Missed me?
by Nightdustt
Summary: Why come back now? Sherlock asks himself that question over and over. Moriarty is alive, Sherlock stays in London. But what did Moriarty plan? Sherlock tries to find out and uncovers a dark secret. Or maybe more than one... Set after Season Three.
1. Chapter 1

"Mycroft?"

"Hello, little brother. How is the exile going?"

"I've only be gone four minutes."

"Well, I certainly hope you learned your lesson. As it turns out, you're needed."

"For God's sake make up your mind. Who needs me this time?"

"England."

"Mycroft, what do you mean?"

"Exactly how I said it, brother mine, England needs you."

"Could you be more precisely?"

"He's back and wants to know if you missed him."

* * *

A small white plane came to a stop in front of three figures. With swift and practiced movements the plane door opened, a stairway placed and a tall, slim man with dark, curly hair came rushing out.

"No, don't say anything. Just show me." Sherlock said when he came to a stand in front of John, Mary and Mycroft.

"In the car." Mycroft answered pointing his arm to the black car. Sherlock ran to the car door, opened it and climbed inside.

"How do you think he will take it?" Mary pondered.

"Well, I'm in shock." John answered, "but we all know Sherlock and probably his only reaction will be 'boring'."

"Actually John, this time I don't think 'boring' is the right description for this situation."

"It isn't?" John asked Sherlock in disbelieve, who suddenly was standing next to him. You would think after all these years John would have some kind of an –Sherlock is coming- alarm, but somehow Sherlock always managed to sneak up at John.

"No. Moriarty is not to be underestimated. Far from it, actually," Sherlock turned to his brother, "Sorry Mycroft, but it seems someone else has taken over the position of my arch-enemy."

Mycroft let out a dramatic sigh "How tragic."

"So what does this mean?" Mary asked looking at Sherlock.

"It means Moriarty is alive or someone, who pretends to be Moriarty, thought it was a nice idea to present himself"

"Figures, what I meant Sherlock is… whatever, forget it." Mary stopped in mid-sentence and stared down at her shoes.

"Mary, I know what you meant it's just. " Sherlock looked uncomfortable and for a split second scared. The most people wouldn't have seen it, John noticed though and quickly jumped in and said, "The last time we met Moriarty Sherlock jumped of a bloody building and there was a sniper holding a gun at my head. And before that, he tied a bomb around my body and threatened to kill us. So let's say it like this; we didn't really miss him that much."

"No need to exaggerate. My men had it under control even if Sherlock hadn't jumped, you would have survived." Sherlock laughed out loud at Mycroft's comment. Mycroft just stared at Sherlock. "What is it now, brother mine?"

"Mycroft, believe me when I say, if you did have everything under control I would have not jumped. Unfortunately, you didn't."

"Of course I did!"

"If you like to believe that then do so."

"Could we not do this now?" John interrupted the two brothers before they started to kill each other. There was silence after that and no one knew what to say. Mycroft then shifted and turned to the car, walked some steps and then turned around again, "Let's head back to Bakerstreet. Sherlock was exiled long enough I think."

**A.N/ Hey Guys, so this is my first Sherlock fanfic and I hope you like it! So this story plays right after the end of season three. It will be about Sherlock trying to find out what Moriarty is planning. Of course, I can never write as good as Marc Gatiss and Steven Moffat. And I bet they have a much better idea, but I will try and I hope you will enjoy this story. **

**Please leave a review, so I can write things better or change things that didn't went so well. **

**Oh and I am very sorry if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes! If there are, please tell me.**


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh God." Sherlock led out a long sigh and then looked at John with disapproval. "You **really** had to write that blog, didn't you?" Mycrofts car stopped in front of 221 Bakerstreet and outside there was a huge crowd of cameras, reporters, microphones, police officers and people. Sherlock enjoyed being a 'hero' sometimes, of course he would never admit that fact to John, but right know he hated it.

"It could be worse." Mary answered.

"Could it?" Sherlock questioned her, raising an eyebrow and then looking outside. Around hundred people were standing outside; pushing themselves to the black car Sherlock was sitting in. The camera men started to film and everyone wanted their question answered. _How can it be, that Jim Moriarty is still alive? _Or _Mister Holmes, what does this mean for Britain?_

"Let's just ignore all of the people and get into the house." John suggested.

"This is going to be painful."

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock's comment and then looked up to him with his intense gaze. "Sherlock, would you stop complaining? I would like to remind you, that most of the time you enjoy this."

"No I don't." Sherlock denied that fact and pretended to watch the people outside.

Everyone was sitting in silence while outside people were shouting and screaming.

"Okay let's do this." John was about to open the left door side when Mycroft spoke, "We will meet and speak about this problem."

"Wait, you are not coming with?" Mary asked surprised.

"No, Mycroft prefers not to be shown on any photos. Wouldn't want anybody to know who he is or that he exists. And no, we won't speak about this 'problem'. I have everything under control. Good day!" Sherlock opened the door and stepped outside. People were shouting and there were camera flashes everywhere. Sherlock ignored it and walked to his front door. He was about to get out his keys when someone grabbed his arm.

"Mister Holmes, my name is Erin Jones from The Sun. How will you-"

"Not now!" Sherlock pushed the woman away. With a quick glance he checked her over. _New; trying to prove herself worth a reporter. 23 years old. Alcohol addict because of her sister's death. Two cats. Had a croissant for breakfast._

"But-" she started again. Sherlock opened the house door and jumped in, only seconds later John and Mary were standing beside him and Sherlock closed the door. He locked it shut.

"That was pretty bad" Mary admitted, slowly getting of her red coat. John helped her do so. Sherlock already started to walk upstairs. He hooked up his coat at the back of the door and then sat down in his chair. He needed to think. Actually he was angry at himself. So stupid! Why hadn't he confirmed, that Moriarty actually shot himself? Why hadn't he checked? He was smarter than that. And why would Moriarty come back now? Why today? Did he know that Sherlock was going to be exiled? Was Moriarty already playing his game and Sherlock hadn't even noticed?

"Sherlock? Did you even listen to me?" John was standing right in front of him with a questioned look.

Sherlock thought for a moment and then answered "With sugar please."

"Okay, I know you only guessed that. You didn't actually listen to me." John was walking to the kitchen, setting up some hot water and three cups.

"I didn't guess! I observed!" Sherlock shouted to John.

"Whatever." John mumbled. None of the two men spoke. You could only hear the tea cups being moved, spoons being placed and the water boiler making a hissing noise. Outside there were still shouts but it got quieter probably because the most people already walked away. Sherlock could also make out two women talking downstairs. Probably Mrs. Hudson and Mary since none of them were upstairs. John walked over to Sherlock with two tea cups in his hands. A third one was standing on the kitchen counter waiting for Mary. The chair made a quite squeak when John sat down. A steaming cup was reached to Sherlock and he thankfully took it.

"You do know Moriarty kind of saved your live?" Sherlock almost spat out his tea at Johns comment.

"What?" Sherlock managed to say.

"You know I'm not stupid." Sherlock was about to say something, but John was getting serious, so Sherlock thought it would be best if he would just shut up. "Look, when you said that your undercover mission would only last six months I knew what you meant."

"And what did I mean?"

"That you would die." Sherlock sat in silence and didn't dare look into John eyes.

"Mycroft would have gotten me out."

"And what if he didn't? Sherlock, you are my best friend and I don't want to lose you a second time."

Sherlock got uncomfortable. He didn't like sentimental conversations. He was happy about John's words but he didn't know what to say.

"What does that have to do with Moriarty?" Sherlock asked trying to get away from the sentimental part.

"He gave you a case." Sherlock understood what John told him. Because of Moriarty Sherlock didn't go into exile, he was allowed to stay here.

"Moriarty doesn't owe me anything. Especially not my life. And I would like to keep it that way." Sherlock hated to think of that word. To owe. He always hat to think back at that time, before the fall. He knew that it all had been part of Mycroft's plan: To let Moriarty think that he had the upper hand. But it had been extreme hard for Sherlock. Sherlock hated to pretend that he was beaten; that Moriarty won.

"Sherlock, that's not what I meant. I don't think that you owe him anything and I rather have him dead, but I am glad that you are here, in Bakerstreet, standing in front of me and not on a plane to eastern- Europe."

"Okay, I get your point. How's the blog doing?"

"Sherlock! You can't just change topics like that!"

"But I just did." John led out a sigh and returned to drinking his tea. Sherlock did the same. There was an uncomfortable silence. Sherlock noticed that John was about to say something when there were steps on the stairs. Mary came in.

"Ohh tea! Thanks John!" She quickly grabbed the last cup and drank. Mary looked around the room, took a chair and sat down. She looked at Sherlock "So, what are you going to do?"

"Help Scotland Yard. Only God knows how many criminals would be loose, if I hadn't come back."

"Sherlock!" John said with a warning tone, looking sharply at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh, please! They can't even solve an easy crime. Small and stupid brains. The only Inspector that can think, is Graham."

"Graham?" Mary asked confused

"Greg. His name is Greg. Why can't you remember his name for once?" John grunted in disbelieve.

"Graham, Greg, George, Gregory. It's all the same." Sherlock put down his cup and stood up. He swiftly walked to the other side of the wall where the yellow smiley was sprayed on and looked at it. He grabbed some paper and pins and started to hang up photos, addresses and documents. For many people it looked like a mess, but in Sherlock's eyes, everything was perfectly ordered.

"It's not all the same! It's his name." Sherlock turned around. What was John talking about? Oh yes, right, Lestrades name. "Yes, yes. I'll remember. George." Sherlock looked at his wall. He needed more information. More names. He would talk to his homeless network and Mycroft.

"Jesus, Sherlock! His name is Greg. Greg Lestrade." Sherlock ignored John. He needed to focus. Moriarty was alive. He still had a lot of money and men. In the two years Sherlock was away he only had taken down a little of Moriartys web. Mycroft had gotten him out, before he was able to finish.

"What does he want?" Sherlock whispered.

"What did you say, Sherlock dear?" Mary asked with soothing voice.

"I have to go." He simply replied. He jumped down the couch and went to grab his jacket. John stood up and walked to Sherlock. "Where are you going?"

"Out. Make yourself comfortable, I will be gone for a few hours." With those words he ran out of the door and down the 17 steps of his apartment. He could hear John and Mary talking, but he didn't understand about what. He was about to open the front door, when he remembered that he locked it. With fast movements he opened the lock and door and stepped outside. It was about 3 pm and the sun was still shining, but already slowly setting. The cold January air crept through his coat and pants. He tightened his scarf and then started to walk, disappearing in the busy crowd of London, searching.


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N Thank you everybody for reading. Here is the next chapter.  
Thank you Neverendingfan for the review and this time I will think about the disclaimer. **

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock in any way. Even if I wished I did.**

"Did it work?" A small and slim man sat in a leather chair. He had a wine glass in his left hand but didn't drink a sip of the red liquid.

A tall man who stood on the other side of the room started to talk. "Yes sir."

"Good" the man in the chair stood up. His crème colored suit fit perfectly. The man started to laugh. "Very good, indeed"

"Should we do everything like planned?" The tall man in the corner asked.

"Of course! I wouldn't miss this game for the world" The slim man from the chair stood in front of the window. It snowed. The trees and houses were white. "Sebastian, how do you like white?"

"White? It's too peaceful. White is clean."

"I think it's the perfect color. You can ruin it so fast. Especially with blood. Red and white. A perfect combination. It's like in Grimm's snow-white."

Moriarty, the man from the leather chair, thought for a moment. He then chuckled and wrote something down. Slowly he walked to Sebastian and gave him the paper. There was a moment of silence while Sebastian read it, then he looked up in surprise.

"You sure?"

"Yes, Sherlock should get a little 'I'm back' present, don't you think?"

* * *

"Hundred."

"Oh, for God's sake. Here take it." Sherlock gave a hundred pound bill over to a thin man. He nodded with approval and then walked away. Sherlock stood in a dark alley. The lamppost next to him was broken and the only light source came from the next lamp 50 meters (54 yards) away. It was already past 10 pm. He had been out all evening trying to find his people in the homeless network. He told them who they were supposed to watch and when to contact them. Sherlock thought that it was the most efficient and securest thing to do. Mycrofts men could be spies and they didn't know the city as well as the homeless. Sherlock breathed out and watched his breath in the cold winter air. There was no snow. This winter was to warm for snow. As he walked he could feel his numb legs telling him to go somewhere warm and rest a bit. Sherlock sighed. He always thought that the human body was on the losing side. They had no kind of protection. If they touched something sharp, it would cut through the skin, start to bleed and send a pain message to his brain. The same was with the cold. Other animals had fur, but humans only had bare skin. It got cold so easily.

"Stupid Transport_"_ He whispered through chattering teeth. Of course we, or better he, had one positive thing and that was the brain. Not all people of course. He only had to look at Anderson to know that. But the brain was one of the greatest things the humans had. It was big and could hold so much information. He sighed again. If only everybody could use their brain efficiently.

"Sir, do you want a ride?" Suddenly a man called out to him and got him back to reality. Sherlock was standing at the main street and a black cab stood in front of him. The driver leaned out of the window, looking at him with a questioned look.

"Hmm yes." Sherlock jumped into the car. It was well heated and he could slowly feel his feet again.

"Where should I go?" The cabbie asked.

"221 Bakerstreet." Sherlock eyed the cabbie. He had learned that he shouldn't trust drivers so easy. In one of his cases, a study in pink as John calls it, he had almost died. A cabbie driver had given him a choice. Two pills, one killed you the other one would let you live. If John hadn't shot that man he probably would be dead. Sherlock hated the fact that he still didn't know if he had taken the right or wrong pill.  
The other driver had been Moriarty. He hadn't actually tried to kill him, well not like that, but it had still been a dangerous situation.  
The cabbie in front of him had short brown hair, was a bit overweight, Irish and in his mid thirties. He didn't look dangerous but you never know. Sherlock kept an eye on him.

Every now and then the cabbie would look at Sherlock through the front mirror. It annoyed Sherlock. He was about to say something when the man spoke. "You are Sherlock Holmes, right?" Sherlock nodded suspiciously. "Yeah, I thought so. Wow that's so cool. I love your friend's blog. I read everything. You know I always believed in you. Never thought that you were a fake."

"That's nice." Sherlock replied with a cold voice. He knew this would be a loooong drive, if that man would talk all the time.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know. That you know everything in two minutes or less. How is it called? Ah yes, deducing." The cabbie, whose name was Daniel Mohr, was getting really excited.

"I see and think. It's easy, let me show you. I know that you are married to a woman but betray her with a guy, because you are gay. You are afraid to say though, because your family doesn't like homosexuals and you probably won't get your fathers money when he dies in six months. After your father's death, you will get a divorce and instead live with your affair somewhere else. Am I correct?" There was silence. Daniel looked surprised and perplexed.

"How…how?"

"Oh no, not that question again." Sherlock led out a long sigh.

"That's impossible! How could you know about my father? And nobody notices that I'm gay. No one!" The cabbie was talking fast, without a pause. Sherlock let him; he didn't have the nerve to tell him 'How' he did it. It would probably shock him, how easy it was.

"Ahh Bakerstreet. Home sweet home. Thank you for the ride and don't worry I won't tell anyone." Sherlock jumped out of the car, throwing in 50£. He walked to his door, opened it and went up to his apartment. All was quite except from Mrs. Hudson's telly (TV) downstairs. She was probably sleeping in front of it on the couch. She does that very often now. It concerned Sherlock. He assumed that John and Mary had left shortly after him and he was proven right when he found the flat empty. He turned on one of the lights and turned to his wall. He wanted to make some new connections and needed to take down some things that were wrong. One look on his wall and his veins turned to ice.

_He _had been here.

A photo from Moriarty was pinned to the wall. Moriarty had a golden crown scribbled on his head and was 'put' above all others. Then there was a picture of Sherlock. It was him jumping down the roof of St. Barts. It sends shivers through his body. But that wasn't everything. On the table in front of the couch there stood a perfect red apple and next to the apple there was a packet. Sherlock picked it up and turned it over. It was small and wrapped in white paper. Three letters were written on the white paper.

I O U

Sherlock carefully opened the package.


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N. Thank you all so much for the reviews. It really made my day. I wrote a stupid Math exam today and I think I failed. So I have been down the whole day, till I saw the reviews! Thank you all so much **

**Neverendingfan: sorry to disappoint, but you won't find out today. **

**JadeBuohler: Thank you for reviewing. Your story is great. If someone wants to read a good fic, read hers.**

** Courtney Wortney: Thanks so much. I will try to change that. I also recommend her story, which got me since the first chapter and which has a really good plot.**

**So here is the next chapter. It is short I know, but I will update soon. It's more about John's feelings because you wrote that I should write more about that. I have to apologies because I can't write those things to well. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, but if I did I wouldn't let you wait another 393 days till the beginning of season four. (Yes, I actually counted how long we still have to wait. Assuming the first episode will be shown on the first of January 2016)**

John sat on the couch. He couldn't sleep. It was about 4 in the morning and he felt bloody awful. He could only think about Sherlock. How could it be that one man kept crossing his mind like that? It gave him a headache. Yesterday, about the same time, he had been awake, scarred to get up. Scared for the day to begin. Yesterday he thought that his best friend would leave and that because of him.

_Oh, do your research. I'm not a hero. I am a high functioning sociopath. Merry Christmas!_

He heard it over and over. Sherlock shouting those words, raising the gun and firing. John had been in complete shock after that. He had been so glad when he found out that Sherlock wouldn't go to prison, only to find out that he would be send into exile. John had feared yesterday. And now he sat here, same spot, same time, worrying about Sherlock. The only difference was though, that Sherlock was in London and not in eastern-Europe. And that Moriarty was still alive and probably had something big planned. Probably how to kill everyone.

"Jesus, my life is so messed up." John whispered into the dark living room.

"Why, would you say that?" Mary voice came so unexpected that John jumped up and almost grabbed his gun. He calmed himself down really quick and looked at Mary, who was standing in the door wearing socks and a nightgown. Her big belly was clearly visible and he suddenly felt excitement when he thought about his child.

"Why do you think that?" Mary asked again. She walked towards him and sat down.

"Well, where should I start?" John took a pause and sat down again next to Mary. "My best friend is a sociopath, but even if he denies it he has a big heart. He is a detective and loves to get into dangerous situations, which kills him by the way and he is rude and annoying, but for some odd reason I still like him. Mycroft, my best friend's brother, works for or is the British government, he could kill us in minutes and nobody would ever know. Then there is you Mary. I don't know your real name and you seem to be some kind of CIA agent. You shot my best friend some months ago, but I still love you with all my heart. And then there is me. Ex-soldier and doctor, who was positioned in Afghanistan, I saw terrible deaths, but still want to see more. So Mary, please tell me if that is normal." John looked into Mary eyes and he saw amusement. There was brief silence but then she started to laugh really loud. John sat there confused but then joined in.

"You forget Molly, who enjoys to cut brains and who has a crush on Sherlock. And Mrs. Hudson who was married to a drug dealer" Mary stated. She hugged John but still giggle quietly.

"Yeah, how could I forget them? The only normal one is Lestrade. Well, at least I think that he is normal." John and Mary sat there on the couch listening to the sounds of the night. It was so peaceful; it seemed like a normal life.

"I worry about him to." Mary said.

"I really don't want to lose him. Not again. As weird as it sounds. He is like my other half." John whispered.

"I know. And I promise you that I will protect him, when ether I can."

"No Mary. I want you to stay safe, no matter what. I need you. Our child needs you." John touched Mary belly and took her in for a hug. "Promise me, please"

"Promise." She whispered into his ear.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock sat in his chair. It had been three days since his 'exile'. It was a sunny day. Very cold though. He could go out and take a walk through this wonderful city. He laughed at that idea. He didn't do ordinary stuff, it was boring. He was bored. God, nothing happened. He talked to Lestrade. There was no murder. Well, there was but only a boring one. Not worth his time. John was with Mary. They were out for the weekend, doing a big shopping tour for their baby. They had asked if Sherlock would like to join, but let's face it, Sherlock was bad with kids. He didn't know what to do. They were so small and loud AND stupid.

Best if he didn't say that in front of John.

So Sherlock was sitting in his chair, not knowing what to do. No one called, not even his Homeless network had news. He hadn't eaten in a while and started getting hungry. Maybe he should make himself a toast. Sherlock stood up and walked to the kitchen, but before he even got that far, his gaze rested on a small device and he stopped in the middle of the room. It was a white phone, with a red case. It was the present from Moriarty. Sherlock hadn't unlocked it yet, because he knew if he did, the game would start and he wasn't sure if he was ready yet. On the other hand Sherlock was almost going insane, because he had too many questions and no answers. He hated waiting, but he also hated being played with. And he hated to know that he couldn't do this alone. He needed help. He wouldn't ask John. He knew that John would get angry but John had a wife and a child and he needed to stay safe. Sherlock couldn't concentrate when John was in possible danger.

Sentiment.

He could and probably should go to Mycroft. Mycroft could give him the most information and he had a lot of power. And he saved Sherlock the last time. It had been Mycroft's plan that rescued Sherlock's life. But Sherlock hated to ask for his brother's help. He didn't want to be the helpless little brother. He didn't want to go on Mycroft's nerves, nor wanted he to look weak. Sherlock wanted to show Mycroft that he could deal with this alone. Unfortunately he couldn't. He needed help and he knew that his best help was Mycroft.

"Oh well then let that be it." Sherlock decided to go to Mycroft. His brother had already been annoying. Mycroft had called 6 times but Sherlock hadn't bothered to pick up. Sherlock got his coat and blue scarf and went outside. It was cold. Colder than expected. Probably around  
-5°C (23°F). He waved for a cab and got inside.

15 minutes later Sherlock walked into the Holmes manor. He always thought that Mycroft exaggerated with the house. It was way too big for his brother. Mycroft wasn't even able to walk through his whole house without sweating. His brother always answered that national secrets were stored in the most room. Sherlock knew that wasn't true. Mycroft was a show off just like Sherlock. In his own way.

A butler appeared and took Sherlock's coat. "Mister Holmes, your brother has been waiting for you. He is in the living room. If you would follow-"

"I know my way." Sherlock cut the butler of and walked to the room Mycroft was in. Sherlock entered and sat down opposite his brother. He put his feed up on the nearby table and stared at his brother. Mycroft was reading the news and had a cup of tea next to him. He only looked at Sherlock once and then started to read again. Sherlock watched his brother closely waiting for him to start the conversation.

"You haven't eaten little brother."

"I was hoping to get one of your apple tarts. Or would you rather eat them by yourself?" Mycroft turned around and smiled at Sherlock with a false smile. "Of course not, help yourself." Sherlock got up and walked to Mycroft's secret cookie supply, feeling Mycroft's gaze burning into him. He opened one of the closet doors and got out the cookie jar. Sherlock then sat down again and started to eat the cookies. All by himself.

"So Sherlock, how will you bother me this time?"Mycroft asked with a bittersweet voice

"I was thinking, since you always have these great ideas you could give me advice on how not to die?"

"You could start with staying out of dangerous situation and not shooting other people."

"Yeah I could. But then my life would be boring." Mycroft let out a long sigh. "What aren't you telling me?" Sherlock knew what Mycroft meant and took out his new phone. He handed it to Mycroft, who took it and inspected it from all sides.

"When did you get it?" Mycroft asked.

"Three days ago. I haven't touched it since."

Mycroft turned the phone in his hands. "Then let's do it." Sherlock stayed silent. Mycroft looked at his brother with an unreadable face. "If you want of course." He then said, looking at Sherlock with concern.

"Of course." Sherlock answered noticing how the conversation turned into something he didn't like.

Mycroft nodded and gave Sherlock the Phone, wanting him to turn it on. Sherlock pressed the top right button for 5 seconds and then waited for the phone to show the main screen. It was one of the newest models on the market. Apple iPhone 6. Sherlock had been thinking getting himself one, but maybe he would wait, since he had one now. Mycroft had been thinking the same thing, because in that same minute he said: "He certainly was generous with your gift."

"He has all the money in the world" Sherlock replied. Sherlock felt guilt rising up. After his jump he was supposed to take down Moriarty's network. He never had thought that it was so big, but he promised himself that he wouldn't come back till the last man was in prison or dead.

"You shouldn't have gotten me out." Sherlock murmured. Mycroft looked at him with surprise, leaving the phone alone.

"Shouldn't I?"

"No. I would have taken every one down and Moriarty wouldn't have money or a network." Sherlock knew he was wrong. Moriarty would have just built a new network or he would have stopped Sherlock before it came that far, but Sherlock needed someone to blame. His only thoughts were right now that his friend could get hurt. And he was the reason.

"You would be dead, London had been blown up and John would still be mourning for you. Great idea, brother mine." Mycroft took a pause and a sip of his tea and then blurted out."And here we see again that I am the smarter one."

"Oh shut up." Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed the phone that had the 'slide to unlock' screen on. He unlocked, surprised that it didn't have a code that he needed to find out. Sherlock then skimmed the phone quickly, trying to find out what was on there. He opened Photos. Nothing.

Contacts. Nothing.

Messages. Nothing.

Videos. Nothing.

Notes. Nothing.

Mail. Nothing.

Maps. Nothing

Music. Nothing

There was nothing on the phone. It was empty. Sherlock was surprised. He had thought that there would be a video or instructions on what he should do. Sherlock sat there trying to figure out on what he should do. "He is smart. Not stupid." Sherlock whispered more to himself than to his brother. Mycroft cleared his throat, trying to get Sherlock attention "Mycroft he is smart. Why isn't he stupid like all the others?" Sherlock asked and looked up to his brother. He then threw the white phone to Mycroft, who instantly looked at it. Sherlock got up and started to pace in the room. He had nothing. He didn't know anything. It drove him crazy. Questions, so many questions. And now he joined the game and didn't know anything. He didn't know the rules and he didn't know how to win.

"I see." Mycroft said, but Sherlock hardly noticed him. Sherlock wanted to smash something. He was angry with himself.

_Stop!_

This wasn't him. He was totally out of character and that in front of his brother. Stop. He told himself. He needed to calm down and look at this problem with distance. He couldn't let Moriarty in his system like that. He needed to be rational.

_A cold hearted machine._

That's what he liked to be. He felt comfortable and secure without feelings. It never went well when he started to feel. He always died or killed someone when he got sentiment. And each time it had been for the same person. John. Sherlock locked all his feelings away and faced his brother again.

_Caring is not an advantage. _His brother's word spooked in his head.

Sherlock sat down again putting his hands in a prayer position under his chin, looking into the distance. "Mycroft the diet isn't going to well. Three pounds. That's quite a lot." Mycroft snorted and then said "It was Christmas."

"You hate Christmas."

"Mummy makes the best cookies." Sherlock had to smile at Mycroft's comment. His mother did make good food. He had eaten quite a lot over Christmas. Mostly to satisfy his mother, but also because it tasted so well. Suddenly a beeping sound came from the phone and Sherlock shot up. His gaze met Mycroft's and both of the brothers looked at the phone, which display was glowing.

_It's so nice that you joined my game, but why did it took you so long, Lockie ?_

Sherlock's eyebrows rose at his new nickname. Lockie. That sounded stupid. Only seconds later a second message came.

_Oh and tell the Queen hi for me._

Mycroft snorted at his new nickname. Sherlock leaned back at watched Mycroft, who took the phone and called someone. Seconds later a well build man came in. He had a black suit on and was armed. Agent. Sherlock noticed.

"There is GPS on this phone. I want it to be removed and checked for any explosives." Mycroft ordered. The agent nodded and then walked out with the phone. Mycroft then turned back to his brother and said "You get it back tomorrow. I have to go to a meeting, Sherlock. So-"

"Yes, yes. I leave." Sherlock cut his brother off, stood up and walked out. He came back seconds later, stopped at the door frame and shouted into the room. "You need new cookies. I accidently ate all." Sherlock could hear Mycroft grunt and he smiled happily. Sherlock took his coat and scarf and walked out of the manor. He felt heavy and decided to walk a bit. He needed to think a bit. Moriarty obviously planned to stay in touch with Sherlock over the phone. Sherlock was positive that it was Moriarty. He could hear his voice over the text message.

_Lockie_

He didn't like that nickname. Not a bit. Sherlock suddenly stiffened. Someone was watching him, he could feel it. And it wasn't one of Mycroft's stupid guards. Did his brother really think, he wouldn't notice that? But that wasn't the point right now. Someone was watching him. Sherlock walked normally, pretending not to notice anything. He then spun around. A normal height man froze for a second and then ran away. Sherlock followed. Sherlock felt the adrenalin kicking in. The first trace in days. Sherlock knew that he needed to catch that man. He probably had answers. Sherlock ran, his feet flying over the pavement. The man vanished in a side street. Sherlock followed. The gap between them got smaller every corner. In a dark and small alley, surrounded by houses he reached the man and grabbed his waist. The man tried to punch him, but Sherlock quickly dodged. With fast movements Sherlock had the man pressed up against the wall. He couldn't escape.

"Do you work for Moriarty?" Sherlock hissed applying pressure on the man's arm. He squeaked in pain. "Answer me!" Sherlock snarled. Sherlock was about to say something when he heard footsteps behind him. It was too late. Something hard hit Sherlock's head and he collapsed on the floor. He could see two figures above him. Dark spots started to appear in front of his eyes and he cursed. Stupid! He had been stupid! He should have watched out for a second one. There were always two. Why did he make so many mistakes? His head started to hurt and he could feel consciousness slipping away.

Stupid Transport.

**A.N. Well here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a review how you thought it was. Thank you.**


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Sherlock noticed was his aching head. It felt like it was split open. He couldn't repress a moan. He felt weak and a little light. He couldn't think. His brain felt foggy. Then he noticed. He had been drugged. Great. Slowly his senses came back. He heard voices, but they were still too far away. His hands were tied and he sat on a chair. Even better. He slowly opened his eyes. First everything was a bit blurry, but slowly he could see, where he was. He sat in a dark little room; a lamp on his right side was the only light source. There were three men in the room with him. The leader of the group wore a black t-shirt and was very muscular. Trying to show off. He was Russian. The other two men were standing in the shadows and Sherlock couldn't see them. Though by the height of the right one it could be the man Sherlock had followed and probably the other one was the one that had hit Sherlock in the head.  
"Ser, on prosnulsya!" The smallest one said in Russian. He stepped forward and Sherlock was proven right; it was the man Sherlock had followed. With a strong German accent the man had said, Sir he woke up. The leader turned around and eyed Sherlock, than he smiled.  
"Mister Holmes finally. You have slept along time." He said in English with a thick Russian accident. Sherlock didn't say anything. "You have some information we need."

"Do I?"

"Yes and it will be much easier for all of us if you tell us know." The Russian smiled and stepped closer to Sherlock. He slowly took out a knife and started to play with it.

"What would that information be?" Sherlock asked with a steady and cold voice.

"We want the code." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, trying to think what that code could be. He knew a lot of codes. Computer codes, passwords, door codes…

Sherlock cleared his throat, which was dry and itched and said "I know a lot of codes. Which one do you need?" The Russian laughed "Don't get smart with us, Mycroft Holmes. You know which code we mean." Sherlock stiffened. Mycroft? Why…? Oh, of course! He almost laughed. These weren't professional or even good criminals. Probably they never killed someone before and only broke into houses till someone gave them a better paid job. They were so stupid. They thought that he was Mycroft. He didn't even look like Mycroft! What an insult.

"Do you work for Moriarty?" Sherlock asked. If they did, then he needed to know what kind of code they wanted. "Everyone works for Moriarty. He is the leader of the leaders. You work for a drug dealer, he works for someone and that person works for Moriarty." Sherlock understood. So they were working for Moriarty. Know he needed to know what code. And why would Mycroft have that code? This day was actually very promising. For the first time answers. Maybe it would be better if he wouldn't be a hostage and possibly dying, but still.

"Why would I have the code you are asking for?"

"Mister Holmes you are the head of the M16 and one of the highest people in the British government, of course you got the code. And someone who I trust said you know. So come on tell us." The criminals obviously weren't going to tell him, what that code was. So what could they mean? Probably some kind of 'National Secret' as Mycroft likes to say. Now Sherlock had a problem he had no idea what he could say. Would it be wise to tell he wasn't Mycroft? These weren't professionals (They had the wrong person, so no comment on that), what mend that they would probably just panic and leave him back. Or they would panic and just shoot him. If he didn't say anything though, it could get uncomfortable for him. He decided to say nothing and just talk.

"So you want the code to hack the Korean Secret Service? I am sorry, but they change it every month and we didn't figure out the newest one." Sherlock said, trying not to smile. The Russian gave a growl. "I don't like to hurt people, but I always do my job. And to fulfill my job I need the code. So I may have to hurt you a bit." Sherlock swallowed at the thought of torture. He had done that once too often. He wouldn't mind to pass this time. He had to talk, needed to distract them and try to get out of here. His hands were tied well, he couldn't get them off. He tried though. He pulled at them and felt how the rope dug into his skin, feeling a burning sensation. Nope, he couldn't free himself alone. Maybe if he talked to one of the guards alone, told them that he would pay them, maybe they would help. Suddenly he heard a clicking sound. A gun was pointed to his knees.

"Mister Holmes, I will shoot. Of course you won't die, it will just hurt. We will do this so long till you tell us the code." The Russian explained. It could be worse, Sherlock thought. He would probably die from blood loss and it would be faster than other ways. Well as fast as it gets. He would prefer being at Bakerstreet and living a little longer, but his life was dangerous. Of course, he would try to get out of here before he died. He still had stuff to do. And people to see. Weird, how many friends he actually had. That he cared about.

"One last chance." The Russian said.

"I'm not Mycroft Holmes." He said hoping that that would get him more time and maybe a minute alone with the German criminal. The Russian laughed, not believing him. "I work for him, but I am not him." Sherlock said looking the Russian into the eyes. "And what would your name be?" he asked smirking. "William Scott." Sherlock answered and he wasn't actually lying. It was his name he had just left out Sherlock and Holmes.

"Of course Mister Scott. So sorry for the mistake." The Russian said sarcastically. Okay, it didn't work. What else could he do? There wasn't anything interesting about the Russian. No girlfriend. His mother and farther dead. Nothing to annoy him with. Nothing personal.

"You had your chance," the Russian began, holding up the gun. "but I need the code soooo…" The Russian pointed the gun at Sherlock's left leg. Sherlock remember how it had hurt, when Mary shot him and he noticed then that he was scared. He closed his eyes and waited. Waited for the pain.

He heard it before he felt it. A loud bang. It hurt his ears and he prepared himself for the pain.

* * *

John and Mary walked into their flat. They had bought a lot of baby stuff; they probably didn't even need all of it. After they unpacked everything, Mary began to make Asian noodles. John could smell the food in the whole apartment and his mouth watered. He was starving. He crept into the kitchen and grabbed some vegetables.

"Hey!" Marry said offended and took the vegetables away, out of his distance.

"But I am hungry!" Mary smiled but shook her head. "You have to wait." John only led out a Mhh and sat down. He watched Mary while she cooked. They had been gone over the weekend. A little holiday and a big shopping tour. It had been nice but also terribly exhausting. He only wanted to eat and then sleep. Mary turned around to him and then said "You should check on Sherlock. Give him a call." John raised his eyebrows in a questioning gaze. Mary sighed "I know that he is an adult, but I can't stop worrying. With Moriarty probably alive. He just seemed a little stressed. Just one call John, please?" John understood what Mary was saying. Sherlock was maybe a genius but utterly stupid when it came to his 'transport' as he likes to call it. John got up and searched for his phone. When he finally found it between the sofa cushions he noticed that it was dead. He grabbed his charger and plugged it in. He would have to wait till after dinner. John could use Mary's phone, but for some odd reason Sherlock never answered or called Mary's number. When he wanted to speak to her, he would call over John. John never understood why.

"John, dinners ready." Marry shouted and John ran to the kitchen. He took a large portion and started to eat. Mary looked at him and then laughed. "People could think that I starve you to death." John shook his head and said "No, you feed me through. Sherlock was the one that starved me to death when we were on cases." She smiled and they both resumed eating. After a while Mary asked, if he had called Sherlock. He shook his head. "Why not?" she asked. "Phones dead." Mary nodded. They finished eating and did the dishes together. When everything was finished John took his phone which was now fully load and switched it on. He gasped for air when he saw all the missed calls and texts. Lestrade, Molly, and even Mycroft had called.

"Oh god." Was all John said. This wasn't good. Not good at all.

"What's wrong?" Mary asked from the bathroom. He didn't reply. He read the texts all saying the same. _Have you seen Sherlock?_ He quickly dialed Greg's number and waited for him to pick up.

"_John?"_

"Greg! What happened? Why did you call me? Did something happen to Sherlock?"

"_John calm down, okay? Yes I had been calling because of Sherlock. You haven't, uhm, seen him?"_

"No." John answered. He started to pace up and down in the living room. That stupid sod! Couldn't he for once not vanish or get into danger?

"_Well, he's missing. Since this morning. Or that's what we believe of course it could be longer. Why didn't you answer your phone?"_

"My battery was dead and I just kinnda forgot. Have you looked for him?" John noticed that the question had been stupid. Of course they had searched for Sherlock. He felt fear rising up. What if something happened to Sherlock? If he had been injured or kidnapped? Then he felt anger. Anger to himself for not looking after Sherlock and at Sherlock for always running into danger.

"_Yeah, we did. Couldn't find him though. It's probably nothing. I bet he will be back soon." _Lestrade tried to calm John, but it didn't help.

"Greg, you call me if you hear anything from him?"

"_Of course. See you."_ Lestrade ended the phone call and John just stood there. John needed to do something; maybe he should go out and look for Sherlock himself. He then did something utterly stupid. Sherlock would probably laugh at him. He dialed Sherlock's number and hoped that he would answer. Hoped that it was just a mistake and that Sherlock wasn't missing.

"Pick up!" he whispered. Pick up, Sherlock! Please. Pick up, pick up, pick up…

No one answered the phone.

* * *

**A.N. I know it's not the best chapter and a bit fast, but I couldn't concentrate so much today. But I still hope that you enjoyed. Please leave a review. It really makes my day!  
Oh and if I got that Russian sentenced wrong, I am very sorry. I don't speak Russian and used the internet. So if it's wrong and you know how it's correctly, please tell me.**


	7. Chapter 7

There was no pain. Just a loud bang. Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at the dead body in front of him. It was the Russian; he was lying at the floor with a hole in his head. Blood covered the grey floor. Sherlock already knew what had happened. He could hear the footsteps and the whispering voices.

"Sir how do you feel?" a dark colored man asked Sherlock. He held a gun in his left hand and had gunfire residue on the same hand. He had shot the Russian.

"How did Mycroft find me this time?" Sherlock asked Agent Julen. Agent Julen was one of Mycroft's men and Sherlock had seen him quite often. Six agents were in the room; three holding down the German and the other more muscular one, one was untying Sherlock, another one stood in the doorframe talking into his earpiece and Agent Julen stood in front of him. "He said he would tell you later and that I should bring you to hospital." Sherlock knew that Agent Julen already gave up all hope in getting Sherlock into the Hospital. Sherlock snorted and quickly pulled his hands away from the back of the chair as soon as they were free of the rope. He quickly exchanged a look with Agent Julen Sherlocks saying clearly 'I won't go to hospital, especially if my brother wants it' and his saying 'I know you don't want to go, but I have orders'.

"Can we not-"

"No." Sherlock cut him off. "I am fine. They didn't hurt me, they were pretty stupid actually. Look, I even walk out of here by myself." Sherlock stood up and the fell. Nobody catched him and he hit the floor with a Thump. He was confused. Nothing was hurting him. Well his head was hurting, but why couldn't he walk? He looked up to Agent Julen, who had a smile on his face. Sherlock did like Agent Julen he wasn't stupid and didn't really care what Sherlock said about him. He was quite nice and had often helped Sherlock in the past.

"Mister Holmes do you know how long you have been missing" Agent Julen asked and helped him up. Sherlock only shook his head. He would have said only a few hours, but the way Julen had asked suggests that that clearly wasn't the answer.

"Four days." Julen answered. Sherlock looked at him with disbelieve. Four days? That couldn't be. How could he be out for four days?

"Drugs." Sherlock noticed and sat down again.

"We believe so. That is why you can't walk, there is still too much in your system." Suddenly a paramedic team came in. They were walking towards Sherlock with a stretcher. Sherlock shook his head and tried standing up again. He didn't fell, but still felt wobbly. The paramedics tried to put him onto the stretcher but Sherlock pushed them away and started to walk away.

"Sir!" Julen called from behind. Sherlock dismissed him with a wink and kept walking. There was no way that he would get carried out, not when he could walk. He could hear Julen talking to the paramedics and then noticed that the paramedics followed him, but didn't persuade him onto the stretcher. Agent Julen walked next to him typing to someone, probably Mycroft. Julens phone rang and he quickly took it and walked away. Only seconds later he returned and gave the phone Sherlock. Sherlock knew who it was and sighed.

_Dear God…_

"Mycroft."

"_You are going to hospital." _

"There is nothing wrong with me."

"_There is nothing you can do, Sherlock. We WILL talk later." _ Mycroft ended the phone call. Sherlock knew that Mycroft was probably right. He felt weak and his head was killing him, but it was only transport. He still couldn't believe that four days had passed. How much had he missed in that time? Moriarty had probably written. He led out a sigh.

Sherlock stopped in front of the ambulance deciding if he should go with them or run of. John would say that he should go with the ambulance. Sherlock thought about it really quick and decided it would be best just to go with them. Less drama. So that's what he did.

* * *

The door swung open with a loud bang, when it hit the wall. John stormed in. It was 3.30 in the morning and he looked liked Dracula or something like that. Mycroft had called him 20 minutes ago, telling him that they found Sherlock, alive and unwounded. He, of course, had gotten up immediately, got dressed and stormed out of the apartment leaving behind a confused Mary. He remembered how she had asked what was going on and he had only answered something like 'Hospital, Sherlock, Stupid git…". He grabbed the first taxi not caring that someone already was inside and drove to the London Bridge Hospital in which Sherlock stayed. He had been quite rude to the nurses, but well he was angry. Angry at Sherlock for getting himself captured.

"John." Mycroft greeted him, when he stormed into the small hospital room. Sherlock was sitting on a chair, a doctor looking at his head. Mycroft was standing in front of his brother, his umbrella resting next to an empty chair. John calmed himself down, closed the door and looked at Sherlock. He had a night gown on, that belonged to the hospital. He looked a bit pale, but that was it.

"Mycroft I have to know!" Sherlock said with a strong voice. Mycroft started to pace and looked at his brother with annoyance. "I told you I don't know." John was shocked that Mycroft admitted that he didn't know something. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother's comment and wanted to stand up, but the doctor pushed him down again.

"You know everything!" Sherlock hissed. "I almost got shot. I have a right to know."

"Wait, what's going on?" John asked. His anger had settled and he felt guilt. He felt guilty that he had been angry with Sherlock; it wasn't exactly his fault that he had been captured. He sighed. He could understand why Sherlock and Mycroft locked away those feelings, they could really confuse you.

"Nothing of importance." Mycroft answered John and then turned back to Sherlock. "Sherlock I know a lot of codes. I know the password of a lot of important men, I know the code for secret places, I know the code to the European bank. I could go on all day. But I don't know which code these people meant."

"They said you know."

"Well I don't." The doctor, who was a women John noticed walked out of the room, giving Mycroft a paper while she walked.

"I don't get it. What code?"John asked again, knowing if he wanted answers he needed to be resistant. There was a minute of silence, where the two brothers looked at each other with their intense gaze. None of them wanted to lose this little battle. Finally Sherlock turned to John and answered his question. "The men that had caught me, worked for Moriarty. I don't understand why Moriarty would even ask such stupid people to kidnap my brother, but you could maybe answer me that question." John ignored the insult at the end, waiting for Sherlock to continue, but that didn't happen. John pinned his bridge nose and then asked. "Your brother?"

"Yes, my brother. Like I said they were pretty stupid and thought that I was Mycroft. Probably because I came out of Mycrofts house and one of the servants called me Mister Holmes."

"And what did they want from you or Mycroft?" John asked. Sherlock gave him the don't-be-stupid-face and the continued. "They wanted a code. And I would like to know which code but my dearest brother wouldn't tell me." Mycroft let out an exaggerated sigh. "Like I said Sherlock, I don't know which code."

"It isn't the code to the Korean Secret Service." Sherlock stated and the smiled. Mycroft looked up from the papers he was just reading and rolled his eyes. "I don't know that code." He simply replied. Sherlock got up from his stool and want toward the bed, where fresh clothes were lying. "Yes you do, you only have to figure out the new one. They change it now quite often, since they noticed some 'changes'" Mycroft ignored his younger brother. Sherlock quickly got dressed and John sat down. He was tired. He hadn't slept, because he had been worrying about Sherlock. John still had to talk about Sherlock and getting his life in danger. Suddenly Sherlock spun around and gave Mycroft some kind of sign that John didn't understand.

"How did you find me?"

"None of your concerns, some secrets have to stay secrets, little brother." Mycroft answered. Sherlock snorted and turned to John. "We're going." John wanted to say something but Sherlock was already out of the room. This was all going a little too fast for John. He had only been here about five minutes. He just wanted to ask Mycroft something, when Mycroft said. "John, could you take Sherlock back to 221b? Talk some sense into him. As you know he doesn't listen to me." John could hear the concern in Mycroft's voice and he again could see how much he actually cared about Sherlock. John nodded and walked out of the room, but before he was completely out he asked "How did you find him?"

John could see Mycroft smirking. " You know that he used to take drugs?" John nodded, already knowing what will come. "Well let's say it like this: Sherlock** thinks** he knows where all the CCTV cameras are. I was concerned he would start drugs again and I installed some more, especially in alleys where junkies would meet. When I noticed that he was missing I just simply had to look at the CCTV videos. We knew who the people were and the rest was easy." John nodded. Mycroft took his umbrella and also walked to the door. He stopped in front of John piercing him with his cold gaze. "I am correct that Sherlock never finds out about this?" John nodded for the third time and walked away from Mycroft. He waved and then followed Sherlock outside. Sherlock was hailing a cab, John quickly walked over to Sherlock's side and jumped into the cab. They gave the cabbie the address and sat there in weird silence.

"Just spit it out." Sherlock said breaking the silence.

"I was worried and scared about your well-being." John answered simply. Sherlock nodded. "You have to stop getting yourself in dangerous situations. You do realize that there are people that care and worry about you?"

"I did realize that." Sherlock answered. John could see he was nervous. Probably because this talk was sentimental.

"Good now just keep that in mind and call for help before you chase down criminals." Sherlock stayed still. John knew that he shouldn't say more, he would only shut out Sherlock. Sherlock knew what John had meant and John hoped that Sherlock wouldn't forget. Five minutes of total silence later, they arrived at 221 b. John had to pay the cabbie like always and then climbed up the stairs to Sherlock's apartment. He always felt sad when he walked up the 17 stairs. He really loved this apartment. Sometime he wished he could live here again, if everything would have gone different. If Sherlock hadn't left for two years… He sometimes stayed awake at night and asked him that question. He wouldn't have met Mary and he wouldn't get a child, he would never trade those two people for something different, but he still wondered.

John walked into the kitchen planning to make Sherlock a sandwich. He decided to sleep at Sherlock's tonight; he couldn't bring up the energy to get back to Mary.

"Sherlock do you want marmalade or cheese on the sandwich **that** you will eat?"

No response

"Sherlock?"

Still no response and ghostly silence. John shook his head, it was probably nothing.

"Sherlock, I am speaking to you."

Silence. No sign of live. Not even his friends breath. Now John got concerned. He walked into the living room. He saw Sherlock standing in front of his couch. Not moving the slightest bit. He still had his coat on and it looked like someone had just stopped the time. Just know did John notice the person on the coach. He walked towards the couch. His heart sped up and he breathed faster. He didn't know what to expect. He came to a stop beside Sherlock and looked at the person. His heart stopped. Everything had he expected. Everything, but not this. No not this. He had even expected Jim Moriarty sitting there, but not this.

The person on the couch wasn't a person. It was a body. A dead body.

"Molly." John whispered into the dead silent room.

* * *

**A.N. A cliffhanger! So sorry… :) **** I update as fast as I can, probably tomorrow or Friday.**

**Please let me kno what you think. If you liked it or not.  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N. This is the last update this year, because I will fly to my grandmother tomorrow and well, she lives in a small town and is 85 years old and has no wifi. I will write and as soon as I get back home I will update. **

**This is a longer chapter, maybe a bit boring, but it will get batter. Promise! I put some kid!lock in it. Just because I love reading and writing those. If you don't want to read those in the story you can tell me. I wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy new year.**

**Sorry if there are any spelling mistakes. It's already late and I couldn't really concentrate anymore.**

* * *

Mycroft sat in his black governmental car, Athena next to him, as always she was typing. He knew she was doing her work. Actually Mycroft was happy to have her. It had taken ages till she could do everything perfectly and knew exactly when he needed something. He didn't even want to think back to the time where Athena had been sick and he had gotten a new PA. It had been horrible. As soon as Athena had been healthy again she had gotten back her place.

Mycroft felt tired. He hadn't slept the last four days instead sleeping he had searched for his brother. Mycroft had gotten suspicious when Sherlock hadn't text him, because of Moriarty's phone. When Sherlock wasn't found anywhere he knew that something was wrong. As quick as possible he had people looking for him. But it still had taken him four days to actually rescue his brother. Mycroft knew that it could have been much worse. Sherlock wasn't hurt or dead.

The lights of London were flashing by. There was not a soul to be seen. It was Wednesday morning. 3.36 a.m. to be exact. The most people were sleeping. The people that worked late had just gotten home, the people that had to go to work early will be waking up in the next half hour. He liked the night. It was always calm, beautiful and peaceful.

Mycroft closed his eyes. He would go to bed right away. He couldn't deal with another sleepless night. He smiled, when he fought about his first sleepless nights. It was when Sherlock was born. Of course it was because of Sherlock. It would always be.

-Flashback-

It was a cold and stormy winter night. Mycroft was sitting on the couch and reading a book. Every minute the little boy's eyes would check the time. Every time he sighed, because the time hadn't passed any quicker. It was already dark and he was all alone at home. He wasn't afraid of being alone, he actually enjoyed it. When his parents went away he would sit down and read a nice book, but today was different. He couldn't concentrate and he was nervous. Three days ago his mother had not come home. His father had told him that she was at hospital getting his little brother. At first he hadn't been sure what to think, but then he had gotten all excited. His brother! Finally after all these months. Nine in total. His father had then left saying that his mother would need him. He came back very late 2.24 in the morning to be exact. Mycroft had stormed down and asked his father all sorts of questions. Was his mother okay? Did he have a brother now? Where they already here? What was his name? His father had laughed, hugged him and had replied with why he wasn't sleeping. Mycroft had just shrugged. His father then explained that his mother was well, also his brother. They would come home in the next few days but had to stay at hospital, so the doctors could check that everything was normal. And that they didn't know a name yet. Mycroft wanted to ask more, but his father had said that he needed to sleep and that was what Mycroft had done. He still had Christmas Holidays so didn't need to go to school. The next day he had woken up, but his father was already gone, leaving behind a note saying he would be back in the evening.

All day Mycroft had been thinking of what he would tell his brother. What they would do. He really hoped that his brother wouldn't be stupid. He just had to think of all these other kids and to think that his brother could be like them… No. Mycroft had decided that he would teach his brother everything he knew. They could read and play together. Talk about other people. Deduce them. He liked that game it was the most fun of them all. His parents and teachers weren't that found of it, but he didn't care. He knew what he was allowed to say and what he should keep to himself. It could be useful to know the secrets and weaknesses of the others, so he kept them for himself.

Mycroft looked at the clock again. 9th of January (three days after his brother's birth), 18.54. God, only 67 seconds had passed! Mycroft jumped up and walked to the kitchen. He was getting hungry. He could eat some toast or cereals. He decided to eat some toast, because he had already eaten cereals this morning. He climbed up a chair so he could see the kitchen counter and got out the cheese, butter, a knife and plate and some juice. He was just about to make himself the toast when he heard a car door slamming.

There here!

Mycroft jumped down the chair, spilling over his juice on the counter and the floor. He didn't care right know he could fix it later and ran to the house door. It opened and his father came in. His heart sank for a moment. What if his mother and brother didn't come home today? But then he heard his mother's steps and he smiled. His mother walked into the house with a baby on her arm. He tried to see something, but the baby was wrapped in a big blanket and his mother was too tall. He could only see dark hair.

"Mycroft were all finally here. I hope you weren't afraid all alone." His father said. Mycroft didn't respond but watched his mother intensely. She looked normal again without her big belly. His mother was tired but also extreme happy.

"Should I help you dear?" his father asked and wanted to take the baby away so that she could put of her shoes.

"No, let Mycroft hold his brother." She replied and looked down at Mycroft with a warm smile. Mycroft' heart made a skip. He could now see his brother! He nodded fast and stretched out his hands. His mother bent down so that she could be on the same height as Mycroft. "You don't have to do anything but hold him. His head has to be hold a little higher, because he doesn't have the strength to hold it on his own. Don't let him drop and keep him warm, okay?" Mycroft nodded again and his mother handed him the baby. He stiffened the second he held the little body. He didn't want to do anything wrong, especially not hurt him. He looked at his mother with panic she only smiled back and took of her shoes. He began to relax a bit and looked at his brother. He was sleeping so he didn't know what eye color he had, but he had read somewhere that almost all children have blue eyes after birth before they change into their real color. He had a lot of dark hair and was pretty thin. Suddenly his brother moved and he froze.

"Mommy it's moving!" he squeaked

"Of course he's moving." She replied calmly. Mycroft noticed how stupid he had just been and started to feel a little ashamed. Then he remembered the question that had almost driven him mad with curiosity.

"What's his name?" Mycroft asked with a quiet voice. He hoped it wasn't a boring name like Robert or something like that. He hoped it wasn't something weird like Mycroft. Mycroft still didn't know what to think of his name. It sounded rather intelligent and wasn't boring but it was also very weird. Of course there could be worse like Sherrinford, but still. He had hated it how all the children and teachers had looked at him and asked 'Mycroft? That's your name?'

His mother answered him with a sweet and caring voice. "Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes" Mycroft didn't know what to think of that name. It was a bit better than Mycroft still strange but better and didn't sound stupid. Good.

"Actually its William Sherlock Scott Holmes but we will call him Sherlock." His father said and walked into the kitchen. Mycroft could hear his father cursing and he knew it was because of the spilled juice. He was thankful that his father didn't say anything and cleaned it up for him. His mother remained next to Mycroft. "Mycie lets go into the living room, okay?" Mycroft nodded. He started walking, holding Sherlock close not daring to loosen his grip around his younger sibling.

-End of Flashback-

Mycroft had to smile at his memories. He could remember how he went to Sherlock every day and tried to play with him, talk to him but his brother wouldn't talk back. Sherlock would only look at him with those intense blue-green eyes and make weird high pitched noises. Mycroft had asked his mother why Sherlock wouldn't talk or walk. She had laughed and said that he still needed to learn all of that. Mycroft had been disappointed, but then thought it was quite useful. That way he could teach Sherlock everything of importance. He started to like his brother every day more and more. But sometimes, especially at night Sherlock was too loud. He wouldn't stop shouting and screaming. In those moments Mycroft hadn't liked his younger brother. He had even doubted that his brother could ever be as smart as him. He had always asked himself why his brother was screaming when he could just simply use his voice. Yes, his mother had told him he couldn't speak, but why couldn't Sherlock learn faster? All his doubt had vanished when his brother made his first steps with 10 months and he said 'Mycroft' for the first time. Well it had been more a 'Myoft' but it had been his name. Mycroft couldn't have been more proud.

Mycroft didn't hesitate to answer his phone when his younger brother called.

* * *

Her brown long hair was in a ponytail behind her back. Her eyes closed. You could think that she was sleeping, but the fact that blood was everywhere said otherwise. There was blood on her cheeks, her neck, her lips, her hair, her clothes. And an open wound at her throat.

John stared in disbelieve. This couldn't be happening. Not to her. Not to Molly. Not to the girl that always laughed and was smiling. He felt tears coming. He walked toward her and grabbed her hand looking for a pulse that wouldn't be there. She was still a little warm. Probably killed when John and Sherlock sat in the cab driving to Baker Street.

There was no pulse.

"Oh God no…" John whispered. He felt anger settle kicking away the shock. How dare did Moriarty do this! If John got that man in his hands he would defiantly kill him! No one, not even Sherlock, could stop him. He would kill Moriarty for Molly, for Sherlock's fall, for letting him suffer!

John jumped when he heard a sound. He turned around and saw Sherlock laughing. It wasn't a bemused laughter, nor was it a hysteric one. It was one full of tears, anger and…

Relief.

Why would Sherlock feel relieved? Normally John would scream at him for laughing at this kind of situation, because it was highly impropriate to laugh when your friend was murdered, but John knew that Sherlock had found something out. He felt hope rising up.

"Why are you laughing?" John asked quietly. Sherlock stopped laughing to look at him with a gaze he couldn't order.

"That's not Molly." Sherlock answered. John smiled. This was good news, very good. But then it took him. If the woman wasn't Molly who was it then? He turned around again. It certainly looked like Molly, but Sherlock probably had seen some kind of detail that says otherwise.

"Molly?" John turned around and saw Sherlock on the phone. He probably had called Molly to be sure that she was okay.

"Stay inside your flat till I come. Don't open the door to anybody, do you understand?" Sherlock hung up the phone and started to call someone else. John formed 'Who are you calling?' with his mouth. Sherlock answered with 'Mycroft'. John nodded and called Lestrade.

"_Jeez John this better be important! Its quarter to four in the bloody morning!" _John could hear Lestrade sighing and he felt bad for waking the busy detective so early. He quickly pushed away that thought. This was important!

"You have to come over here!" John spoke a little too fast and you were able to hear his nervousness.

_"What happened and where is here?"_ Lestrade asked and groaned.

"Baker Street. There is a...uhm dead body here."

_"You serious?"_

"No, I just woke you up this early to joke around." John hissed sarcastically.

"_I'm coming."_

"Good. And sorry for being a bit rude."

"_Just make sure there is coffee when I'm there."_ Lestrade ended the call and John put away his phone. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. What a night. First Sherlock and then this. John walked to the kitchen making coffee. "This will need to be strong." He murmured and put more coffee powder into the machine then necessary. The water boiled and steam made itself to the ceiling. John grabbed two cups. One for Greg the other one for himself. He knew that Sherlock wouldn't take one. Not yet. He waited there patiently till the coffee was ready and poured the hot, black liquid into the cups. It had to cool down a bit till you were able to drink it. John checked the clock. 3 minutes to four. Greg should be here soon. And as John thought that the door opened downstairs and he could make out 7 people coming up the stairs. Lestrade was the first to come into the kitchen, John gave him the coffee and Lestrade nodded thankfully. He had his long crème colored coat on and looked extreme tired.

"You look like shit." John remarked

"Thanks you to. By the way your pullover is turned to the outside." John looked down and indeed Greg was right. His jumper's inside faced outside. He looked like an idiot.

"Inspector. Perfect." Sherlock's deep voice came from the other side of the room. Lestrade jumped when he saw Sherlock and John remembered that Lestrade didn't know that he had been found.

Lestrade smiled slightly "Sherlock you're back!" Sherlock seemed to have also forgotten his four days absence.

"You were gone four days." Lestrade reminded him.

"Ohhh, **that **story." Lestrade shook his head with disbelieve. "What do you mean with that story? You were kidnapped!" Sherlock let out a long sigh. Lestrade looked at him with a puzzled gaze obviously not knowing what to say.

"He's fine. I just picked him up from hospital." John said. Lestrade turned to him "What happened. Where was he?"

"I am still here **and **can hear you. Also I am able to answer your stupid questions it is not necessary to ask John." Sherlock commented with an annoyed voice.

Both John and Lestrade ignored him and John told him what had happened. He finished with saying "And then we came home and found a dead person on our coach. So yeah everything is fine. Normal."

"Yes right. The body, that's why I am here, my team, is already investigating, right?" Letsrade asked a little disorientated. He seemed to feel bad, because he stood here chatting and not helping his team with the dead woman.

"Investigating." Sherlock mumbled under his breath with sarcasm.

"Sherlock not now, okay?" John reminded him. John went out of the kitchen Lestrade and Sherlock following him. He stopped in front of the couch.

"Oh god! Is that-" Lestrade began his sentence."No." Sherlock caught him off.

Lestrade bent down and looked at the women. "She looks like her."

"Of course it looks like her. That's the point. And now don't ask me why I know it isn't her, because the answer is obvious, but by the looks on your faces you seem not to know. I will explain. The bracelet on her right arm is a present from Molly ex-thing Tom. When they were still together she used to wear it all the time, but since they aren't she doesn't dare touch it. She doesn't throw it away though because of something sentimental, but hides it in the back of her wardrobe. Someone broke into her flat and stole all these things. Her clothes and jewellery. Then a woman, the one in front of us if you got confused, got killed because she looks like Molly. They put on Molly's belongings and placed the corpse on this couch. So there are still two more questions to be answered. Who killed her and who is the woman? Both are also easy to answer but I bet you won't no. First-"

"Sherlock…" Lestrade interrupted him

"What is it now? You just have to listen! You don't even have to think." Sherlock complained having a voice like a little child. Lestrade just sighed and signaled him to continue.

"Obviously someone from Moriarty network killed her. How do I know? Because he told me. Second, the woman's name is Anna Karew. And how do I know that? I checked for missing persons on the internet just a moment ago. A woman that matches her description was reported missing 17 hours ago."

"He told you?" John asked immediately. Sherlock nodded pulled out a white phone with a red case and gave it John. John clicked on messages and read the texts.

_It's so nice that you joined my game, but why did it took you so long, Lockie ?_

_Oh and tell the Queen hi for me._

_Sherlock, I am so glad you are back. Did you like my surprise?_

_No, not particularly. SH_

_That's too bad. I thought it suited you._

_What do you mean? SH_

_You know exactly what I mean._

"You write with him?" John asked. Before Sherlock could reply someone came running up the steps. Mrs. Hudson entered the flat wearing a pink bathrobe. She stopped dead when she saw Lestrade and all of the police officers and then again when she saw the dead woman.

"I want to know what is going on. Why is there a…"

"Mrs. Hudson everything is fine." John tried to calm her down. "No, it isn't! There are too many people in this flat. Is it because of Sherlock?" She asked the question with concern.

"I am fine Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock spoke from behind John and stepped into her view. She rushed up to him and looked him up and down "Oh dear, Sherlock you had us all worried. Are you okay?"

"Like I said, I am fine."

"Yeah, but you always say that." Mrs. Hudson said and crossed her arms. John couldn't help but smile. She was right he did always say that.

Sherlock took a defensive pose "That's not true. I don't always say that." Suddenly another three figures stepped into the flat.

"Brother dearest you know that she is right." Mycroft's bittersweet voice came from behind John. "Perfect. My day is complete."Sherlock whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. Mary, Molly and Mycroft had entered the flat. Molly in shock, probably because Mycroft had told her what happened and Mary smiling. She came right up to him. "You okay?" she asked quietly. He nodded and then asked her what she was doing here. Mary answered that Mycroft had picked them up to be sure that nobody would try to take them while everyone was distracted with the dead woman. John knew that it was a smart thing to do. He looked into the flat. Sherlock was insulting everything and everyone, while Mrs. Hudson was complaining. Molly sat in a chair starring at Anna Karew with a shocked look, Lestrade tried to calm Sherlock down, Mycroft led out a comment here and there and Sherlock always commented something rude back. Then the two brothers would start to fight in their own intellectual way. John sighed. This would be a long, sleepless night.


	9. Chapter 9

_Oh God, oh God, oh God._ His hands were shaking. How could this happen. How? He looked down at his hands. They were covered in thick red blood. The blood already started to dry but there was so much. So much blood. Too much. His pants, his shirt, his hands. Everything.

_Oh God. Why? Why?_ It was just a dream. Just a dream. A nightmare. He would wake up every minute. It wasn't real. Just a dream. But he didn't wake up.

_Please stop. Stop this_! God was he crying? He was. Hot salty tears rolled down his cheeks. The tear drops collected themselves under his chin and then dropped. Dropped onto his hands. His bloody hands. The blood! He needed to wash it off. It had to go. He jumped up and ran to the bathroom. He washed them over and over with soap and hot water. He washed them so long till the blood was gone and his hands were red from the hot water. But he didn't feel better.

_Breath!_ He ordered himself. In and out. In and out. Footsteps got louder. Someone was coming. The bathroom door opened. An old man with grey hair walked inside.

"Doctor Watson?" And he knew it before the man spoke. He could hear it in his voice. See it in his walking pace. How the doctor didn't dare look him into the eyes. All his hope shattered in that moment.

**1 Hour earlier**

Two weeks passed, since there had been a dead woman in 221b Baker Street. Sherlock had been working and doing weird stuff since that day. "John I have to know what Moriarty is planning." Sherlock had always used the same excuse. It got onto Johns nerves. He came by every afternoon to see what Sherlock had been up to. Often the detective wouldn't be there or only muttered some words because he was in his mind palace and other times he was pacing and throwing things at the wall because he didn't make progress. After 10 days John decided to take Sherlock to the Yard and to force him to take a case. Sherlock had been refusing to take cases since Moriarty and it drove John crazy. That man couldn't sit still and the worst thing was, that Sherlock's ego slowly got crushed because he didn't get anywhere with Project finding Moriarty.  
So here he was walking to Scotland Yard. Sherlock had just called him and said that he had found something. John was glad that Sherlock had called him to inform him about the case and didn't leave him in the dark like he sometimes does. It was quite an interesting case, actually. Three women have been murdered on public street in front of hundred witnesses. All of them had an open sliced throat. But although the murder was committed in public no one saw anybody nor was there any evidence. Sherlock first refused to take the case (Because of Moriarty), but after John had threatend that he would take away all of Sherlock's science equipment and make sure that Molly wouldn't let Sherlock into Barts he took the case. And Sherlock had fun. He was a bit calmer now and you could actually talk to him without getting hit by something. He still refused to eat and sleep but John was working on it. John was walking into New Scotland Yard up to the third floor where Lestrade had his office. As soon as he walked through the glass door a voice, John would recognize everywhere, shouted through the offices.

"John!" He saw the detective immediately. His black curls and long thin body were unmistakable. "Finally! You don't know how painful it is with all these dull human beings."  
Lestrade walked up to them with relief on his face. He nodded to John "I am so thankful that you are here. This man-" Lestrade waved to Sherlock, who grunted as he was mentioned. "- is driving us all crazy."

"Well you obviously had fun" John ironically said. He could see the 'fun'. Every officer in Scotland Yard watched them the most with an annoyed face, some with shock probably because Sherlock made some kind of deduction about their life. "Okay so who is the murder, Sherlock?" John asked. He braced himself for a long and fast deduction from which he would only understand a third of it.

"It's a man called David Burch. He has been arrested a few times for possessing drugs." Sherlock gave John a few sheets of paper. In the first one there was a photo of a young blond man. He looked friendly but there was something in his eyes that made you shudder. Lestrade looked over Johns shoulder to analyze the man.

"He isn't one of our suspects. What makes you think he is the murder?" Lestrade asked looking up to Sherlock. Sherlock shook his head in annoyance. "First I don't think, I know that he is the murder. Second I am not responsible for your incompetence to get the right suspects."

"So how did you figure it out?" John asked quickly.

"That was a bit harder. All three women are on Facebook and Skype. I... sorta hmm required their password. I read through their chats and looked up their friends. David Burch was their ex boyfriend. All three women ended the relationship on Facebook per text message. He got angry and told them that he will kill them. Mostly it's just a bluff but this time he meant it."

"But we looked at all the recent woman's ex boyfriends. He isn't one of them." Lestrade put in and looked at Sherlock with a questioning gaze. "Yeah well they were together around 8 years ago. And it was a secret. David Burch didn't want anyone to know. The only way to find out was over Facebook."

John wondered how exactly Sherlock managed to get the passwords but he stayed quite. Sherlock wouldn't tell them. "So how did he kill them? Not public I guess."

"Right John not public. Only 20 meters (65 feet) from the death scene there is a very small alley were the killer hid. He grabbed his victims, slit open their throat and shoved them out again. It went pretty fast, but they were still able to walk a bit. They probably wanted to get help but couldn't speak. As we all know, people are a bit slow with progressing information or seeing things that are important." Sherlock spoke the last sentence very slow, Lestrade rolled his eyes and John pierced Sherlock with a sharp gaze. But he ignored it.  
"They didn't notice the women struggling till they fell and died." Sherlock finished and looked at Lestrade.

"Right, okay." Lestrade murmured "So where do we find him?"

"What makes you think I know where he is?" Sherlock asked

"Because you called and said it was important and usually when you do that you know what the suspect is doing next or where to find him."

"Very good Inspector. You are getting a bit smarter."

"I'll take it as a compliment."

Sherlock took out some papers and photos. They showed David Burch and a cute ginger girl with freckles.

"Is this his next victim?" John asked. Sherlock nodded. John could read a name. Nina Meyer. She was born in Cornwall in a small town called St. Ives, but her mother is from the Netherlands. Nina is 32 years old, mother of two kids and married.

Sherlock tapped his finger on the picture and spoke. "Mrs. Meyer went to London for one year when she was a student. She met David Burch and began a relationship. This one wasn't a secret one, probably because he loved her very much. Now the same thing happens. They broke up. She ended the relationship. I found out that Mister Burch bought a ticket to a Village called in Cornwall because he plans to kill her. The train leaves today at 7.25 p.m. from Victoria Station. Perfect opportunity to catch the suspect." Sherlock ended his speech, clapped his hands and smiled a bit.

Lestrade looked at the photo and then up to Sherlock. "Okay let's write down what we know. David Burch had a secret relationship with all three victims. They broke up and he wrote that he would kill them. He did. In a small alley he grabbed the women, slit open their throat and then let them to die on the street. Now he is after Nina Meyer, who lives in Cornwall. They had a relationship while she was in London for a year. Today he is taking the train from Victoria Station to . He wants to kill Nina Meyers. We are supposed to catch him before he boards the train." Lestrade looks up to Sherlock so that he confirms what Lestrade just said. Sherlock nods.  
"Well it sounds all logical but it's only a theory. We don't have evidence." Lestrade then says.

"I knew that you would think that. Of course I've got evidence." Sherlock took out more photos and a little plastic bag. Sherlock pointed on the pictures. One showed a footprint on earth next to it was a tiny speck of blood. The second picture was taken in a flat. Two boots stood against a white wall. The boots were a bit muddy. The third picture was from a CCTV. David Burch was on it. He was walking right past victim 1. The forth and last picture was a knife. It was shiny and looked new, but there was dried blood at the end of it.

"You broke into a flat?" John gasped and looked at Sherlock. He was angry and shocked. And jealous. He used to do all this with Sherlock. Why didn't Sherlock take him with anymore? Was it because he was married and a soon to be father?

"It was for a case." Sherlock defended himself. "As you can see the footprints in picture one match the boots I found in the flat. The knife leaves the same cut like the one in the victim's throat. And he was at the crime scene next to the victim only 5 minutes before her death. And I found his hair on Lisa Hortling, victim three." He pushed the plastic bag to John and Lestrade and smiled. Lestrade nodded and then also smiled.

"This is enough. We got him! So should we go catch him? It's already 6.45 p.m." Sherlock and John nodded. Lestrade made some calls and then grabbed his coat and walked out of the office. Sherlock followed and so did John. He could feel the adrenalin and energy when he thought about catching a criminal.

Sherlock and John walked next to each other out of Scotland Yard, though Sherlock was a bit faster and always some inches in front of John. Suddenly Sherlock spun around, faced John and grabbed John's wrist. "John." Sherlock said and looked at him. John was about to make some kind of joke when he saw the seriousness on Sherlock's face.

"Yes?"

"Can you promise me something?"

"Depends."

Sherlock sighed and let go off John's wrist to get out a folded piece of paper. He gave it to John. There was a location and a time given.

Diana Memorial Playground Hyde Park, 22:45

"John whatever happens today you have to go to this meeting tonight. It's important. It could affect a lot of human lives"

"Sherlock...?"

"No John. Promise me. I don't care if the world is falling apart, if there is a new episode of Doctor Who or something like that. You. Have. To. Go. There." Sherlock was practically begging John. John didn't know what to say. He had a lot of questions and he was about to demand more information before he said yes when he looked at Sherlock. The man was begging him for something not demanding and his voice had this sad and desperate tune, so John nodded his head. "I promise."

"Thank you John. You won't regret it." And with that Sherlock walked over to Lestrade ready to chase down a criminal. John stood there for some seconds holding the piece of paper till Sergeant Donovan ran into him. "Sorry Sally." He murmured an apology. Before she could reply he ran to the car Lestrade and Sherlock stepped into and took a seat in the back of the car.

The car ride was quite but comfortable. It took them about 10 minute. It would have been less if there hadn't been so much traffic. As soon as they were there Sherlock jumped out of the car. Victoria Station was quite old but still a beautiful building. Lestrade and John walked after Sherlock who already vanished into the station. They met Sherlock inside again.

"Track 16." He said and John nodded. They stood next to a Starbucks café. Sherlock walked away again. Trying to get to platform 16. There were a lot of people in the station and John hoped that no one will get hurt. John looked around and saw other men and woman moving towards Track 16. Police officers. Suddenly Sherlock stopped in front of them and turned to Lestrade.

"There he is. Detective Inspector. Your moment, go on, arrest him." Lestrade nodded and made silent communication with his fellow officers. John looked at David Burch who stood in front a restaurant called Wasabi. Lestrade and some other officers walked towards the man. David Burch though was high alert and noticed the police officers. He tried to run away but there were a lot of people blocking his path and in an eye-blink Lestrade stood in front of Burch. Lestrade grabbed Burch's arm.

"Mister David Burch you are arrested for mu-" Lestrade was cut off. There was a short cry of agony and surprise. John couldn't see what happened but suddenly there was blood on the Inspectors right arm. The suspect pushed the startled detective away and started to run.

"Shit!" John said and ran to his wounded friend. Greg stood there holding his arm. It didn't look life threading.

"That bloody bastard just stabbed me!" Lestrade's voice was full of anger and fury. John almost laughed at the scene. He took Greg's arm and inspected it. The cut wasn't deep and no important vein was harmed. He would survive it. Maybe a scar.

"Does it hurt?" John asked gently.

"You bloody bet!"

"Okay, okay! I call an ambulance. It's not life threading." Lestrade relaxed a bit and smiled. His smile faded fast though and he looked around. "Where is David Burch?" John turned back to the station and searched for the man. The civilians were running from the scene and John could see a bit more than before. He located David Burch on the other side next to a shop called Wetherspoons. Sherlock was running after the man as were three police officers. Everything seemed normal. They always ran after criminals and John was about to turn back to Greg when he saw it. David Burch took out a gun, turned around and fired. It went so fast John couldn't react. The next thing he saw was Sherlock crumbling to the floor.

* * *

It all went pretty fast. He, as always, was running behind the criminal trying to catch the man that killed three women AND stabbed one of his friends. Sherlock was actually very upset. It gave him more energy and he ran faster than the three police officers behind him. The civilians were running from the crime scene and Sherlock was glad about it. He wouldn't bump into one and he could run faster.

But then something happened that he didn't see coming. David Burch grabbed to his left and pulled out a black gun. He spun around and fired without hesitating. Sherlock wasn't able to dodge or do anything else. And then he felt the pain. Just for a second. It shot like fire through his veins and nerves. And then he fell. He couldn't do anything about it. It was like his whole body just shut down the second the bullet hit his body. Sherlock didn't even know where he got hit.

For some odd reason the last thing he thought was that John would be really upset. A bit not good.

* * *

_David Burch took out a gun turned around and fired. It went so fast John couldn't react. The next thing he saw was Sherlock crumbling to the floor._  
John reacted fast. He left Lestrade standing and ran to Sherlock's side. He didn't leave the detective out of his eyes. When John reached Sherlock's side, there were already people surrounding him. One was calling an ambulance.

"Sherlock!" John called and kneeled beside his friend. God there was so much blood. Sherlock was lying on his stomach; his faces turned to the other side then were John was sitting. And there was blood. All around his friends torso. Soaking Sherlock's black coat and white t-shirt. John checked Sherlock's pulse. There was none. God! There was no pulse. It was silent. Not even a weak one.

"No!" John whispered more to himself. Not again! Not again! He felt tears rising into his eyes. The first time this happened Sherlock had jumped from that bloody roof. There was no pulse and he thought his friend had died. When he looked back to that day he could see all the clues and hints that should have told him that Sherlock was still alive. The second time John had feared Sherlock's life was when Mary had shot him. There had been a lot of blood too. But Sherlock had a pulse and he had been breathing. This was different. No one was pushing him away. No one tried to take Sherlock away from John. There was no pulse and his friend looked so dead. He knew that he should leave Sherlock like he was, but he needed to see the wound. He needed to know what he could do or what he couldn't do. He turned Sherlock over and regretted everything. His snow-white Shirt was all red now. There was a hole. Right were the heart was. A tiny little hole. A hole that ripped away Sherlock's life. John put his hands over the wound trying desperately to stop the bleeding. But it wouldn't stop. The warm blood was oozing out of the wound through Johns fingers. This couldn't be happening. He needed to safe Sherlock. _Safe him!_ A desperate voice in him screamed. But he knew that there was nothing he could do. There was a bullet wound in his friend's heart. He lost a lot of blood and stopped breathing and so did his heart.

"No Sherlock! Don't do this to me! Wake up!" John screamed and took the detective in both of his arms. John's crème colored jumper got soaked red from Sherlock's blood. He pressed the detectives head against himself. It was like John forced some of his energy into Sherlock. John whimpered. Sherlock couldn't leave him again. Not ever. John ignored the people that were surrounding them. The silent whispers. No one tried to pull him away. No one dared to interfere.

"Sherlock… please…" John whispered into the detectives ears. John tried to ignore the fact that Sherlock had stopped breathing minutes ago. That there was a bullet hole in his friend's heart. That his heart had stopped beating. And that the amount of blood that got lost was too much. Everything was just a blur. He hardly noticed the paramedics taking Sherlock away. He hardly noticed how he drove in the ambulance to the hospital. He hardly noticed anything. It was just a blur. Just a dream.  
His brain started to work again when he sat in the waiting room. It was now 7.15 p.m. Not an hour ago his friend had still talked to him. Healthy. Whole. Not with a bullet hole and blood everywhere. The doctor in John suddenly came up and he pieced one and two together, seeing reality. He was still hoping. Hoping that his friend would survive. But the doctor in John told him that that would not happen. Not even the best doctors in the world could safe someone from a ripped through heart. He would lose Sherlock.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God_. His hands were shaking. How could this happen. How? He looked down at his hands. They were covered in thick red blood. The blood already started to dry but there was so much. So much blood. Too much. His pants, his shirt, his hands. Everything.

_Oh God. Why? Why?_ It was just a dream. Just a dream. A nightmare. He would wake up every minute now. It wasn't real. Just a dream. But he didn't wake up.

_Please stop. Stop this!_ God was he crying? He was. Hot salty tears rolled down his cheeks. The tear drops collected themselves under his chin and then dropped. Dropped onto his hands. His bloody hands. The blood! He needed to wash it off. It had to go. He jumped up and ran to the bathroom. He washed them over and over with soap and hot water. He washed them so long till the blood was gone and his hands were red from the hot water. But he didn't feel better.

_Breath_! He ordered himself. In and out. In and out. Footsteps got louder. Someone was coming. The bathroom door opened. An old man with grey hair walked inside.

"Doctor Watson?" And he knew it before the man spoke. He could hear it in his voice. See it in his walking pace. How the doctor didn't dare look him into the eyes. All his hope shattered in that moment.

"Yes?" John's voice was not more than a whisper. So hopeless.

The doctor took a deep breath and then looked right into Johns eyes. "I'm so sorry. We did everything we could, but…" The doctor didn't need to say more. John knew. Oh god he knew.

"I understand." Was the only thing John said and he walked out of the bathroom. He didn't care about the blood on his clothes. He didn't care what else the doctor might say. He just didn't care.

* * *

This was painful! Mycroft was sitting in a meeting with the American, Russian, French and Chinese representative. They all were arguing about something that wasn't important and it got on Mycroft's nerves. He still had work to do. But no! Here he was sitting with some stupid people that felt so special and wanted to show how much power they had. It was tedious. If he wasn't part of the discussion it could be funny to watch. But unluckily he was part of the discussion and that already for 2 hours. It felt more like 2 years. Then unexpectedly the door to Mycroft's right opened and Athena his PA came in.

Not good. This was a very important meeting. No one was supposed to disturb them if it wasn't very, very, very important. So something bad must have happened.

"Sir?" Athena asked and he only nodded. He excused himself from the debate. He knew he wouldn't miss anything of importance and actually he was quite glad to be out of the room.

"What is it?" He asked when the door behind them shut and no one was able to hear them. Athena searched for something on her phone. She had a sad face and he instantly knew what was going on.

"Oh for god's sake! What did he do know?" Athena didn't answer him and only gave him her phone. Mycroft looked down and saw that it was CCTV footage from Victoria station. He pressed play.

He could see Sherlock walking in front of John and Detective Inspector Lestrade. He could also indentify some other police officers among the crowd. Suddenly his brother spun around and faced the Inspector. He said something, but Mycroft couldn't hear it. The Inspector made some hand gestures to his fellow police officers and walked to a man who stood in front of a restaurant. The man noticed what was happening and tried to run away but his path was blocked by other people and Inspector Lestrade grabbed the man's arm. With fast movement the arrested man took out a knife and stabbed Lestrade in the arm. The Inspector was shocked and the suspect ran away. Now everything went very fast. John ran to the wounded Inspector and Sherlock ran after the criminal. John was inspecting Lestrade's arm carefully but didn't look worried. Not life threading then. Mycroft focused his attention back to his younger brother who was running to the opposite side of Victoria Station chasing down the criminal. He was a bit faster than the three officers behind him. Then the criminal took out a gun and fired, fired at his younger brother. His brother crumbled to the floor and he could see John running to Sherlock. The doctor turned Sherlock on his back and Mycroft noticed with shock that his brother got hit in the heart. Sherlock's white shirt was soaked red and John desperately tried to stop Sherlock's blood from flowing. Then the doctor gave up and grabbed Sherlock and pressed him against himself. It was heartbreaking to watch. Then he could see Lestrade sitting down next to John talking to him, but it seemed like John didn't listen. Then paramedics rushed to the scene and took Sherlock away from Johns grip. The doctor was in some kind of trance and Lestrade helped him up and walked with him to the ambulance. Then they got inside and drove away. Some people cleaned up the lake of blood and only minutes later it looked like nothing ever happened.

"Where is he?" Mycroft only asked hoping that his brother wasn't lost. That there was still a chance he survived, even if all the odds were against them.

"There is a car waiting outside Sir." Athena replied. Mycroft nodded and walked fast, okay he was actually running, to the exit and sprang into the black car.

Please don't let him be dead.

* * *

John walked up the steps to his flat. He felt so heavy. So lifeless. He got out his keys and opened the door. Mary was sitting on the couch watching something on TV.

"John you're back. Did you catch the murder?" Mary got up and looked at John. She widened her eyes when she saw all the blood. "Oh my god! Are you hurt? John you have to go to hospital." John remand silent. He was still figuring out Mary's first words. He didn't know if they arrested the murder. Sherlock's murder. He hoped they did.

"John?" Mary asked quietly and took a step towards him.

"It's not my blood." He answered without any emotions.

Then it hit Mary and she widened her eyes even more. "Is it… is it Sher-"

"Yes." He interrupted her before she could say his name. "That stupid idiot got himself shot." Mary took a step forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

"But he is okay, right? He is in hospital?" Mary asked her voice indicating that she was scared of the answer. John looked her straight into the eyes.

"No Mary. He is dead."

**A.N/ Oh nooooo. What an ending. I hoped you liked this chapter. Please leave a review! I will update soon.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A.N/ Next Chapter! Thank you all for your reviews. It's really nice to read them. Hope you enjoy!**

Mycroft walked through the Hospital doors. He didn't stop by the receptionist to ask where Sherlock's doctor was. He already knew. He walked to the intensive care station and asked for Doctor Quinnt. A nurse told him that he was in the waiting room, talking to someone. John. He was probably talking to John. And this soon. Not good at all.  
Mycroft walked to the waiting room and just walked in when he saw how John ran out of the room on the other side. His heart sank. Not getting better.  
An old doctor with white hair came out of the bathroom. He looked defeated, sad and worn out.

"Doctor Quinnt?" Mycroft asked and took some steps toward the doctor. Quinnt looked up.

"Yes that's me. How may I help you?" he asked

"My name is Mycroft Holmes. My younger brother Sherlock Holmes is under your care?" The doctor sighed and looked up at Mycroft. "Was."

"Pardon?" Mycroft asked but he already knew what the doctor meant.

"He was under my car. I'm very sorry but there was nothing we were able to do! He died when he got shot. There was no way we could safe him. He died fast." Mycroft chest tighten and he felt a lump forming in his chest.

"Sherlock is dead?" He asked again just to be sure he didn't misunderstand.

"Yes. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Jesus Christ!" A voice said from behind them. Mycroft turned around and saw DI Lestrade standing only some meters/feet away with a white sling around his wounded arm. "He really… oh god." The Detective sat in one of the white plastic chairs and rubbed his face with his good arm.

Mycroft turned back to the doctor. "I want to see him." Mycroft needed to be sure. When someone was able to fake his death then it was Sherlock. The doctor nodded and walked out of the door Mycroft came in and down the hallway. Mycroft followed but then turned around and looked at the Inspector. "I know that this is also hard for you, but could you maybe keep an eye on John? He… well didn't take it so good last time." The police man looked up he had watery eyes but fought against the tears and then nodded. Mycroft turned around and followed the doctor to the morgue. It was cold inside and very quite. Doctor Quinnt went to a metal door and opened it. He grabbed the tray and pulled it out. First a mess of black curls appeared and then the unmistakable face of his younger brother. Mycroft took a deep breath. Sherlock was pale. He always was but no he was dead pale. He didn't look peaceful and it didn't look like he slept. He just looked dead. Mycroft turned around and faced the other way. He couldn't see his younger brother like this. He had always tried to protect Sherlock. He tried to protect Sherlock from falling down the stairs when they were younger, he tried to protect Sherlock from the bullies in school, he tried to protect Sherlock from the drugs, he tried to protect Sherlock from Moriarty. He always tried and very often he succeeded but sometimes he failed. Mycroft knew that he wasn't the best brother someone could wish for, but he still cared about Sherlock. He had to think how he and Sherlock had fought each other all the time, about the most uninteresting things. Just for the fun.

"_Mycroft I'm so bored!"_

"_That's nice, Sherlock." The little eight year old came bouncing in. Mycroft sat by his desk doing his homework. He sighed when he looked at his little brother. It was spring and Sherlock had a ripped trouser on, his shoes were muddy and his shirt was dirty._

"_Come outside and play with me!" Sherlock ran to Mycroft and looked at what Mycroft was doing._

"_Can't." he responded._

"_Why not?"_

"_I'm doing homework. This is an important essay and I have to get it right, so no, I can't come out and play." Mycroft put away his pen and looked at his brother with an intense gaze that was supposed to tell Sherlock that he meant it._

"_But that's boring!" _

"_No it's not. It's about the Second World War. A very interesting topic."_

"_But that happened ages ago! Why do you care about it now? History is not important" Mycroft sighed at his brother comment. He though History was actually very interesting. Everything that happened in the world before let to this exact moment. Who knows how the world would look like if people never fought against the monarchs? Or if a war didn't happen how could that have affected everything? _

"_Sherlock its history and you are supposed to learn from it. It's important. And the Second World War didn't happen that long ago."_

_His brother looked away not interested. "Whatever. Can we play pirates, pleasssseeeee!" _

"_Sherlock I just told you-"_

"_You are so boring Mycroft."_

"_Why can't you play by yourself?"_

"_Boring."_

_Mycroft took his face in his hands. "Is that the only word you know?"_

_Sherlock grunted. "Then let us collect bugs. I need some."_

"_No. You know that Mommy doesn't like it. And again I can't."_

"_One day you will be one of these boring office people."_

_Mycroft looked at his brother amused. "Will I? What about you then."_

"_I'll be a pirate." Sherlock stood very straight and tried to look tall. It was actually quite adorable. _

"_Pirates are being internationally searched. You won't get very far." _

_Sherlock's eyes looked at Mycroft with confusion. "That's not true! They hide treasures and draw maps." _

_Mycroft almost laughed at his brother. How could it be that Sherlock was so smart but also so very ignorant about some things? "Sherlock that it what they used to do. They don't do these things anymore."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_History." Mycroft smiled at his answer but Sherlock looked at him with that death look._

"_You're stupid."_

"_Sherlock just go out of my room and stop annoying me!" Mycroft shouted now. _

"_Boys!" Their mother walked through the room. "Do you always have to fight?"_

"_Well Mycroft started it."_

"_What? No I didn't. You were the one that came in here and annoyed me."_

"_You started it because you are boring and stupid."_

"_Try to get a life!" Mycroft hissed back._

"_That's enough. Both of you. Sherlock stop annoying your brother. And Mycroft play with your brother once in a while." Their mother looked at them with a gaze that said don't-argue-with-me. Before any of them could reply anything their mother grabbed some clothes and threw them at the boys. _

"_What's this?" Sherlock asked with disgust._

"_Clothes dear brother. You put them on." _

"_Shut up!" _

"_You two just can't stop, right?" Their mother shook her head. " We are going to a little party. One of my old professors invited us to his mansion. It's tonight and you are supposed to look nice so put them on."_

"_What?" Sherlock and Mycroft asked at the same time. _

"_You understood me. Now get dressed. We are leaving in an hour."_

"_But I have to find bugs!" Sherlock cried out._

"_And I have to finish this report!" Mycroft said._

_Their mother just walked away. Mycroft sighted. He had gotten black trousers, a white shirt, and a grey pullover. Sherlock looked at his clothes. He had dark navy trousers, also a white shirt and a blue pullover. _

"_No Mycroft I can't wear this! It's going to get hot in this pullover and by the look of the clothes we are going to some noble family and we will have to sit there and smile and be nice. Please push me down the stairs so I can stay here."_

"_I won't push you down the stairs!"_

"_Then do something else!" _

"_I am powerless against our mother. And didn't you just complain that you feel bored?"_

_Sherlock grunted and went out of the room. Mycroft sighed. Again. His brother had too much energy and ideas. He hoped that one day his brother would be calmer and not so curious._

_He had never been so wrong in his life._

Mycroft still stood at the same spot like he did one minute earlier. In this stupid morgue. He clenched his fists. He had a lot of memories of Sherlock. Some were good, some not. Pain started to explode in his chest when he thought about the fact that he would never get new memories, because someone had killed him. Sherlock was truly gone and the only way to remember his brother was through his memories.

His brother had always been difficult. Sherlock was arrogant, ignorant and selfish and he often didn't understand other people's feelings. He didn't do it on purpose of course, but it was very frustrating for family and friends. But Sherlock had his heart on the right spot and he would do anything for his friends and family. He was a good person, even if some people say he wasn't.

"Mister Holmes?" A concerned voice stirred behind him. It was the doctors and Mycroft noticed that he had stood there for at least three minutes.

"I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine." Everyone was able to detect the lie. The way his voice was only a whisper and broke by the last words betrayed him. Mycroft turned back to the doctor. Sherlock's body had been put back and the metal door was closed. "Where are his belongings?"

The doctor went to the other side of the room and pulled out a plastic bag from a shelf. He gave it Mycroft. Sherlock's clothes were inside, as was his phone and the little magnifying glass. The emotions hid Mycroft full force again. Sherlock's clothes were blood soaked. His beloved Belstaff coat and blue scarf. Mycroft's hands began to shake a bit and he tried to get them back under control.

No one got away with hurting his brother. David Burch would pay dearly. And if Mycroft found out that this had been planned and someone else stood behind this he would not rest before everyone got punished for what they done.

I promise you, brother mine, that you will get justice for what happened to you.

* * *

John was in the bathroom. Tightly holding onto the sink. He was trying not to cry. He splashed some cold water onto his face and breathed deeply. He had gone into his bedroom and cried silently the last... he didn't know how long he had been there. But at some point all the tears were gone and he had walked into the bathroom.

In and out. In and out. He told himself the whole time. After 10 minutes he calmed himself done a bit and walked into the living room. Mary was still sitting there. The TV was on, but she didn't watch any of it. She looked concerned and John could detect a tissue next to her. She had also been crying.

"I don't know what to do." He said quietly. Mary didn't respond. She was staring at what ever was on TV, but not actually watching it.

"Stupid idiot." John laughed. "I knew he would get hurt one day." John's chest tightened and he felt the tears again. Mary then got up and walked towards him. She hugged him tightly and then he collapsed again. He cried into her shoulder.

"I (sob) thought that (sob) everything will be (sob) better now. (pause) You know after our marriage (sob) and he being (sob) my best man. (sob) I though nothing (sob) NOTHING could tear (sob) us apart again."

"I know John." John grabbed Mary tightly. At least this time he had someone. Someone to hold onto so he wouldn't go down the dark road again like last time.

"I want him back!" John cried out. He wanted his best friend. Mary slowly took him to the sofa and they sat down. John still tightly hanging onto Mary, tears running down his eyes.

"John I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know how much you liked him. I liked him to. He was also my friend." John's heart tightened even more by Mary's words. Sherlock doesn't even know how many friends he has. John stopped crying his sobs vanished. The whole apartment was silent except of the TV playing in the background. John could hear a woman talking about the new episodes of eastenders. He never watched the series but planned to do one day. He tried to push the TV noise away but something in the back of his head told him that he was missing something important.

_New episodes…_

Suddenly John jumped up from the sofa. Mary looked at him confused. John ran to the door and grabbed his jacket. He searched the pockets till he found what he was looking for.

_"John whatever happens today you have to go to this meeting tonight. It's important. It could affect a lot of human lives"_

_"Sherlock...?"_

_"No John. Promise me. I don't care if the world is falling apart, if there is a new episode of Doctor Who or something like that. You. Have. To. Go. There."_

_"I promise."_

_"Thank you John. You won't regret it."_

"His last words to me! He knew! He knew!" John got all excited. Maybe Sherlock wasn't dead. Maybe this had been planned. Hope rose in him and adrenalin kicked in.

"John what are you talking about?"

"Mary I swear if he's alive I won't punch him. I'll hug him till he dies of suffocation." John looked at the clock. 22.23. He had twenty minutes till the meeting. He put on his shoes. He was glad that he had showered and changed his clothes. It would have been a bit weird to walk around with blood stained clothes.

"John!" Mary grabbed his shoulders and turned him towards him. "What's going on?"

"The last thing he said to me was that I have to go to this meeting. " He waved with the paper. "And that whatever happens today. He said 'I don't care if the world is falling apart, if there is a new episode of Doctor Who. If the world is falling apart! MY world is falling apart. He knew what would happen. He must be alive." John smiled. Mary looked at him with concern and kissed him on the cheeks.

"Don't hope too much." She whispered. He nodded and stormed out of the flat. Outside he was looking for a cab. When he got one he ordered the cabbie to drive to the north entrance of Hyde Park. In the cab he got out his phone and called Greg.

"John. Are you alright, mate?"

"Greg. Go to the north entrance of Hyde Park. We have to be there before 22.40! Hurry up." John spoke very fast and he feared Greg might not have heard him.

"What? Why?"

"Just come. I think Sherlock might still be alive." John smiled again. Greg gasped and then said goodbye. John reached the Park at 22.39. Lestrade was already waiting for him. They nodded to each other and walked into the park. They needed to get to the Diana Memorial Playground. They ran in the dark. Trees were only shadows. They could hear the noises of the busy city and it was comforting. They were at the playground very quickly. John and Lestrade looked around and John had to laugh. There was a gigantic wooden pirate ship.

"What's funny?" Greg asked.

"Mycroft once told me that Sherlock wanted to be a pirate." Greg then also smiled and they walked towards the ship. John knew that there were lots of hiding spots and someone easily could sneak up on them. They were the only ones on the playground and it was oddly quite. Mostly these things were full of little kids jumping and dancing around. Laughing, shouting and crying. It felt sad to see a playground this silent.

John checked his watch 22.44. He let out a frustrated sigh. Of course Sherlock needed to be just perfectly timed. When it turned 45 John's heart made a leap and he looked around. Where was he? Greg grabbed his arm and pointed with his finger towards a figure. It was a tall and thin man. And he was walking towards them. He's alive! John smiled. He also walked towards the figure and wanted to hug Sherlock, but he stopped when the man stepped into the light.

He had no hair and a big tattoo on the left side of his face. The stranger had at least ten earrings and a piercing through the nose. He wore black leather boots, ripped jeans and a leather jacket with a black t-shirt underneath it.

John's heart broke again. It wasn't Sherlock. Probably someone from his homeless network, who had a message for them. God why did he hope that much? Sherlock had been shot. John could hit himself for getting so much hope. Stupid!

His disappointment probably was painted all over his face, because the man spoke with a thick Australian accent. "You seem disappointment. You fellows waited for someone else?"

John didn't answer. It wasn't Sherlock. It wasn't Sherlock. Sherlock really was dead.


	11. Chapter 11

**A.N/ Next Chapter! I know that it is mostly dialog and not my best writing. But I couldn't leave you wait, right? So hopefully you still like it.**

**Thank you for your reviews!**

_His disappointment probably was painted all over his face, because the man spoke with a thick Australian accent. "You seem disappointment. You fellows waited for someone else?"_

_John didn't answer. It wasn't Sherlock. It wasn't Sherlock. Sherlock really was dead._

"We just thought to meet someone else that's all." Greg answered the stranger and looked at John with concern. He took a step towards the man concerned that he might have a break down any moment.

"Who were you expecting?" the Australian man asked.

"A friend of ours." The detective answered. John still stood at the same spot and hadn't moved since. All his hope was washed away. He recalled Mary's words telling him not to hope too much and she had been right. He shouldn't have hopped. For god's sake he had seen Sherlock being shot.

No. He couldn't think that way. He was a soldier. He was strong. He needed to concentrate on the task before him. This last assignment. The last assignment that Sherlock gave him. He needed to do it right.

_You see, but you don't observe!_

John straightened his shoulders. He will do it right and he will finish what Sherlock started. John looked at the man.  
The man was wearing dirty and torn leather boots. Probably already two years old. But he could see that someone else had worn the boots before this man. The way the stranger stood in front of them didn't match the shoes bends and folds in the leather.  
His jeans was not new but also not old. It hadn't been worn to often then.  
The stranger's jacket had some small burned holes in them and looked very old. But it showed no signs that the owner had worn it a lot. It looked more like one of the clothes you once bought and then throw in your closet and only find 5 years later.  
The man was dressed up. It's not what he really wears. John shifted his gaze to the face of the stranger.  
He had no hair at it looked like it was recently shaved. Brown eyes. On his left side there was a long tattoo that didn't represent anything specific. It started there were his hair should be, went past his eyes, over his cheekbones and ended at his chin. It stretched itself from the eyes till the ears, covering his whole left side.

_Secret, hiding something, doesn't want to be recognized._

"No Greg I think we found exactly what we were looking for." John said. The Detective turned to him. "What?"

John then grabbed the strangers arm and hugged him tightly. Sherlock a.k.a. the stranger was startled and went stiff but quickly relaxed and awkwardly put his hands on Johns back.

"John…" Sherlock whispered his name, but John didn't want to hear him. As an answer he hugged the detective even more. He had told Mary that he would suffocate Sherlock when he saw him and he wanted to do exactly that. They stood there for another minute or so till Sherlock tried to loosen Johns grip around him.

"Nope." John answered. "Your own fault." He had his friend back. He had been right. And this time he won't let Sherlock go again. What did that stupid idiot even think? To get shot like that. John had to admit that he probably had the weirdest friend ever.

"You're hurting me a bit." Sherlock then said and John smiled.

"That was the plan."

"John." Sherlock wheezed and it really sounded like he was in pain, so John loosened his grip. He then looked at Sherlock's face and he could see sweat and pain.

"Oh I'm sorry. I didn't…" he stammered.

"Well I did get shot." He said and Johns smile left his face.

"Yeah! You bloody did get shot. How the hell did you do that?" Greg cursed from behind them.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and didn't dare look them into the eyes. "It needed to look real."

"We thought you were dead." John whispered and needed to think how he felt just two hours ago. His chest tightened again by the thought that Sherlock could have been dead.

"Sorry about that."

"You should feel sorry!" Greg spat.

"No need to raise your voice Inspector." There was another person emerging from the shadows. John knew who it was immediately. The swinging umbrella and cold voice could only belong to one person.

"Mycroft want to join us?" he asked. Mycroft stood just behind Sherlock now, but John could not see his face.

"No. I was actually going to offer it to you. There is a car waiting. We have things to discuss." Mycroft turned around and walked away again. Sherlock nodded and then followed his brother. John and Greg stood there a little shocked. He had no idea what was going on. Why would Sherlock fake his death again? John looked at Greg and could see that he had the same question.

"We should follow." The Inspector said and John nodded in agreement. They ran after the two brothers.

"So," John began while they were walking to the exit. "Mycroft knew about this?"

"No." Sherlock stretched the o.

"No?"

"No." John could feel Greg shifting uncomfortably. There was silence while the four men walked through the darkness. You could only hear the other breathing and the sound of the city in the background.

Lestrade turned to face Mycroft. "So you only found out after your visit to the hospital? You didn't act when the doctor told you Sherlock had died?" John could see Mycroft freezing for a moment.

"No I didn't act. I found out in the morgue that Sherlock was still alive." Mycroft spoke fast and without any emotion. You could think that he didn't even care if his brother was alive or not but John knew it was only a façade. Like Sherlock.

"You look stupid." John commented when they all reached the car. Sherlock sighed dramatically. "It needs to be done. And it worked you didn't recognize me."

"I did recognize you." John smiled

"No you didn't. You had a theory and were controlled by feelings. You didn't use logic, you just acted sentimental." Sherlock's harsh words were ignored by John. John was used to it and he already blended them out.

"Your cheekbones." John replied and stepped into the big car. There were two seats in the front, three in the middle and another two in the very back. Mycroft sat in the middle right one, facing the two seats in the back. John sat opposite Mycroft. Greg seated himself next to Mycroft and Sherlock sat next to John.

"My what?"Sherlock sounded surprised and touched his cheek.

"Your cheekbones gave you away. I don't know any other human with such cheekbones. And then I counted one and two together. The way you wore your clothes and how you obviously hid something gave you away." Sherlock smiled at John deductions. Everyone stayed silent for a while and then Greg spoke. "Are you going to tell us how and why you let yourself get shot?"

Sherlock straightened his back and placed his fingers under his chin. It looked so normal but also so abnormal because Sherlock looked so different. Without his black curls and those intense blue eyes. John always had to double check that it was actually his friends and not some random Australian guy.

"I faked my death so I can go undercover. I need to find out what Moriarty is planning and I can't do that here in London. And I cannot trust these dumb agents of Mycroft. So I have to do it myself."

"But Moriarty will know that you are still alive. He isn't stupid and you already once faked your death. He'll know that you are still alive." John asked.

"Yes Moriarty will know, but it will be hard to find me. And I did it in public and in front of cameras so other assassins at least think that I am dead. I have an advantage."

"Yeah, your death was pretty real. How did you do it?" Lestrade asked.

"David Burch was actually someone from my homeless network. I told him he wouldn't need to worry about being arrested, Mycroft would get him out." Mycroft snorted in the background but Sherlock quickly started to speak again. "I told him he should shoot me in the chest. I had a bullet-proof-vest on, stolen from Mycroft actually and hid blood packages under it. As soon as the bullet hit me, the packages burst and it looked like I was bleeding." John shuddered. It really did look like Sherlock had been bleeding to death. John remembered how he washed of the blood thinking it was his friends.

"Do you want to share with Doctor Watson and Inspector Lestrade what went wrong?" Mycroft asked.

"Something went wrong?" John asked

"Well yes. A little." Sherlock looked uncomfortable. "He didn't shot me in the chest but in the heart. Because of the impact I did actually kinnda die for… about 7 minutes. The paramedics did CPR and I survived."

"Right." John said. Sherlock and his stupid plans. He could have actually died. He did.

"So why did I have to get stabbed?" Greg asked then.

"I needed you two out of the way I didn't want you to get hurt."

"How thoughtful of you." Greg snapped.

"So what now? You are just going to leave us?" John asked. He feared the answer. If Sherlock really goes undercover, then there in no way for John to help his friend or to tell how long he will be gone.

"Yes. I will find out what Moriarty is planning. Mycroft will help me. That's also the reason why I look like this. No one should recognize me that fast."

"Well thank you for telling us you are still alive and not two years later." John then suddenly snapped.

Sherlock obviously didn't get the clue and replied with a calm voice. "I know you would be grateful. You may also tell Mary, and Molly but they have to pretend I actually died. Can you do that? Pretend that I am dead?"

"Well we all know how to do that, since we had practice." John calmed himself down for a second "So should we actually go to your funeral?"

"Yes. Moriarty men will be watching your behavior so you have to really be sad. Do you understand me John? Mycroft will have agents around and they will make sure that you are all safe." John nodded and showed that he understood. He couldn't believe what was going on. This went all too fast. Sherlock dies, Sherlock lives, Sherlock goes away. It all seemed like a dream."So this is it? You are going?"

"Yes. I am hoping to know everything Moriarty is planning by the end of the year."

There was a pause, but John quickly replied "No! You can't just leave like this Sherlock! You will promise me something. You will stay in contact with me. I want postcards from you or a text. I don't care, but you can't just leave without talking to me." John spoke fast and he tried to contain his anger, but you could still hear it.

"I don't know if that is a good idea." Sherlock said

"I don't care. I want to stay in contact with you." John looked at Mycroft who was still sitting quietly in his chair. "Mycroft. Can we do that?"

"I think it's a good idea. " Mycroft answered without hesitation.

"What?" John, Greg and Sherlock said to the same time. John wouldn't have thought that Mycroft agreed so quickly on that.

"Yes. John is right you should stay in contact. Let's not think about what happened last time." Mycroft pierced Sherlock with his eyes.

"What happened last time?" John asked. He knew it had something to do with the time Sherlock had been away.

"Not important." Sherlock answered.

"Let's say that Sherlock had a little row with a Serbian major. It took me three weeks to get him out of there."

"Ooh." John knew what it meant. Sherlock had never told him about that 'row.' They sat in silence. John noticed that they were driving in the direction of his house. So Sherlock really meant it. He will go undercover.

"One more question." Lestrade looked at Sherlock. "Who is the murder of the three women then?"

"There is no murder. The women were already dead. All three of them died in a car accident. I used them so it looked like a murder." John looked at Sherlock wide-eyed.

"What?" Sherlock asked innocently

"You- you just don't do that, Sherlock." John answered.

"Well, they were already dead and if I didn't who knows how many people might die, because of Moriarty."

"We are here." Mycroft said. They were in an alley only two streets away from Johns home. Everyone got out. There was again an uncomfortable silence. John breathed in the cold winter air and walked to Sherlock. He hugged the detective.

"Don't get hurt, don't do something stupid, be careful, write me and for god's sake. Stay alive!" John whispered into his best friend's ear.

"I promise." They then let go of each other and Sherlock turned toward the Inspector. Greg gave him a friendly hug and told Sherlock to be careful. Sherlock nodded. They stood there for another minute or two and then Mycroft and Sherlock got back into the car and drove away.

"Stupid git." Lestrade murmured as they walked to Johns flat.

"Stupid git." John confirmed but couldn't help to smile.


	12. Chapter 12

**A.N/ Next Chapter! It took me a bit longer to upload and I am sooo sorry. I just started an internship so I had to work longer then normally and I just didn't have the time. But I promise you the next update will come faster. I already figured out what will happen in the next chapter so I only have to write them now.**  
**This chapter may be a bit boring and it isn't very long and certainly not my best writing(!) (I am sorry if something is unclear), but next chapter will have some really cool action with Sherlock and John.**  
**One of you asked if Sherlock actually shaved his hair or not. He did. But don't worry his cute curls will be back soon!**

**Thank you for your reviews!**

* * *

"Very good. Very, very good." Jim Moriarty stood in front of his sniper laughing. "So he pretends to kill himself. It may fool others but not me. This game is getting interesting again. There is only one thing bothering me." Moriarty stopped talking and turned to Moran. Both men stood in silence while Moriarty drank some of his red wine.

"I like interesting games, I really do." Moriarty sounded nice and cheerful but you were able to spot his anger under the nice voice.

"I JUST DON'T LIKE IT WHEN OTHER PEOPLE CHANGE THE RULES!" Moriarty shouted. Moran remained at the same spot.

"What are we going to do about it?" Moran asked with a steady voice. He wasn't quite but also not loud. It was best to stay neutral in front of Moriarty.

"The same plan of course! Nothing will change." Moriarty said stubbornly. Moran looked at him with a confused gaze. That wasn't possible. The plan was extensive and if it was supposed to work everyone needed to play their role. Holmes already broke out of his role. The plan could not work this way.

"But-"

"No! The plan stays the way it is. It will work."

"Jim! The plan **will not** work." Moran stepped towards his boss. Why wouldn't he see? Moriarty turned towards Moran. His cold eyes were blazing in anger. In those moments you could see how dangerous Moriarty was. Just a second later though he smiled. "Of course, Sebastian. You are right. The plan won't work." Moriarty stopped smiling. "If you think it doesn't work, then make it work." And with that Moriarty walked out of the room.

* * *

_Boring, tedious, dull, uninteresting, stupid, mind-numbing, pathetic…_

God! It was awful! Sherlock was leaning to a glass wall and watched all these stupid and brain less people. He eyed the three women behind the counter and sighed. Why were they even trying? The plane was late so much was clear. It already said on the sign over the counter but the truth was that the plane wasn't one and a half hours later but more around two.  
He was supposed to fly to Amsterdam. There had been some suspicious criminal activity, Sherlock was going to find out what they were doing, hopefully at the same time finding out more about Moriarty's plans.

He was at London Heathrow. He still looked stupid. God he hated his disguise. He looked dumb and gross! He wanted his coat and suits back, but no, here he was with a leather jacket and uncomfortable jeans. People were even looking at him with a disapproving gaze. It was disgusting.

"This is an announcement for a delayed plane: Dear passengers of KLM flight 1032 to Amsterdam at 20.25, because of weather troubles the plane will be delayed another 2 hours. The boarding time will approximately be 22.25. We are sorry and apologies deeply. Please remain at the gate for further announcements"

People were sighing and protesting quietly. It was to be expected. Sherlock didn't care if the plane was late or not he would rather stay here in England. But he knew he couldn't, he had decided to go and he would finish this job. Stop Moriarty. Some people would say that he had an obsession. Maybe he did. But to be fair he did this for the people he cared about. He didn't care about the people on the streets, the most wouldn't even like him. He did this for his best friend John. For Johns daughter. For Mary. For Lestrade. For Mrs. Hudson. For Molly. And even for Mycroft. He would never say this out loud and he would never admit it to someone else, but sometimes he did care for people.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he got it out.

_Checked the passenger list. No suspected or suspicious person is on it. Don't attract attention to yourself! MH_

Of course Mycroft would check. He always needed to have everything under control. But Mycroft shouldn't have bothered; Sherlock already had deduced everyone on his plane. They were all boring, normal, dull people. Sherlock let out a sigh and tucked his phone back into his pocket. He knew Mycroft, John and Lestrade were worried that he would be to 'Sherlock'. They were probably worried that he would make a deduction about everything and everyone and that people would notice that Marcus Broke (his new fake identity) was actually Sherlock Holmes. But he tried! He really was trying to be nice and not a 'show-off' (he never show offs!) and he didn't insult one person since yesterday (only in his head).

Sherlock got another text. He bet it was from Mycroft. Again Sherlock grabbed his phone to see who had sent a text and surprise: it was Mycroft.

_Made sure your plane would be first to take off. Don't want you to get in late. MH_

Sherlock grunted. Here it was again. Mycroft trying to help. What difference did it make if his plane would take-off 10 minutes earlier? He was already late and nothing Mycroft could do would help. Mycroft couldn't stop the bad weather outside; he couldn't stop the wind or the storm.  
Sherlock needed to remind himself that Mycroft did that, because he cared. Yes, even his idiotic brother cared for some people. The man who said 'Caring is not an advantage.' To help Sherlock with the flight was a sign of brotherly companionship. Well, everyone had their own ways.  
It had shocked Sherlock a bit when Mycroft had told him, that it would break his heart when Sherlock would die. They had never said these kind of words to each other since they were children and it had hit Sherlock with full force. He had no idea how to reply. And yesterday something similar happened again.

_Sherlock got up from the cold and metallic table. He only had on a pair of boxers and it was freezing. Doctor Quinnt quickly gave him a gown to put over. Sherlock nodded silently and turned towards his brother. He saw Mycroft standing 10 feet (3 meters) away facing the other way. Mycroft was looking at his belongings. Mycroft touched and looked at his black belstaff coat, the blue scarf and Sherlock's phone. Sherlock could see that Mycroft was stiff and his fists were clenching. Mycroft was upset. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was because his brother believed he was dead or if it was because he didn't know if someone had actually planned to kill Sherlock or if this was just an accident._

"_I thought caring wasn't an advantage." He said and took a step towards his brother. Mycroft froze for a second and then spun around. Mycroft eyed him suspiciously. Sherlock could see shock and then relief for just a second on his brothers face, but it faded quickly being replaced by an unemotional face. Mycroft took an unsure step towards his younger brother and just looked at him._

"_Sherlock." That is all Mycroft says. It doesn't sound sad or lost; he says it like a fact._

"_I think I might acquire your help." Sherlock quietly said. He didn't want to ask his brother for help, but to face the truth he needed to. He still had to do a disguise ( a rather stupid one actually with requires a fake tattoo, new clothes, an Australian accent and he needed to shave off his hair.), he needed money and information on people. But he also wanted to tell his brother that he was fine._

"_I think you do."Mycroft replied. Mycroft took some steps to Sherlock so they only stood inches away from each other. Mycroft then awkwardly put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I'm glad you're not dead."_

**Yeah I know not the best. Next update will be soon.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A.N/ Next Chapter. This was very hard to write so it took me longer, but it's also a long chapter. Enjoy!**

**Thank you for your reviews!**

* * *

"Oh for God's sake. Are they still talking about that break-in?" John shouted over to Mary who was sitting in front of the TV watching news.

"Yes they are. No new leads, no new evidence, nothing." Mary replied. John put down the frying pan and walked in to the living room listening to the news.

"…The police are still trying to find out why and how the burglars broke into the chemistry factory." The report stopped with that and the news lady went over to the weather. Three days ago a group of people broke into a chemistry factory and stole some chemicals. If John remembered correctly it was a chemical called Arsenic. The crime wasn't even that interesting the only reason why the papers wrote so much about it was because nothing else has happened in the last two weeks since Sherlock 'died.' Of course the papers couldn't stop writing about the "Second Death of Hat Detective" or "Did Genius Detective fake Death again?"

"There so incompetent!" John said and waved with his hands. "Sherlock would have figured it out just by watching the news." Mary looked at him with a concerned, but also amused face.

"Oh John you miss him."

"Of course I miss that selfish, stupid arse hole!" John shouted. The weekend two weeks ago was his funeral. It had been very sad actually. Everyone (Mycroft, Mary, Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock's parents) knew of course that Sherlock was still alive, but it wasn't hard to pretend. John had actually cried when he held his speech and so had Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Mary and Sherlock's Mother. John had noticed some unexpected visitors (as in assassins that have to figure out if Sherlock was actually dead or not-so-quite-dead), but he thinks that they were all quite convincing and everybody would believe that they thought that Sherlock was dead. Mycroft made sure that everyone of them had some kind of bodyguard at all time and the media of course couldn't stop writing about Sherlock's death. All sort of speculations and theories were made, but the CCTV footage of his death was quite convincing (something people didn't have when Sherlock jumped from Barts) so people started to believe he really was dead and didn't fake it this time.

"Did he write something to you yet?" Mary asked and turning of the TV.

"No he didn't. Mycroft said that he was fine though and had already visited Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Antwerpen, Port du Havre and where he is right now I don't know." John sat down in one of his chairs. The last time he had seen Sherlock had been exactly 17 days ago. John was a bit bored and he missed his friend and of course he was worried, because somehow Sherlock always got himself into trouble.

"Don't worry he'll send a message." Mary smiled at him and John smiled back. He knew that Sherlock would write him a message sooner or later, but the thing is if you wait for someone to text time seems to expand into infinity.

"I know, I know." John sighed. He sat there a while thinking, when he started to smell something burning. "The pancakes!" He jumped up and ran to the stove. His pan was still on the stove and the 'pancake' was burned and crunchy. He quickly turned off the heat and took down the pancake.

"Shit." There was no way he could save anything of his pancake. It was totally burned and crispy. Not even all the sugar, maple syrup or applesauce in the world could help to save the pancake.

"Let me do the rest of the dough, okay?" Mary spoke behind him. He wanted to object and tell her that he will cook but in that moment his phone rang and he nodded.

"Alright, but if you need help tell me." John said and pressed a kiss to Mary's forehead. Mary moved over to the stove to make the rest of the pancakes. John quickly grabbed his phone and checked who was calling him. It was a blocked number and John couldn't help but to feel excited.

"Hello?" he asked the person on the other side.

"_¡Hola__!__" _A male person answered.

"What?" John knew that hola was Spanish and meant hello, but he was still a bit confused.

"_John really please try to use your brain for once. I said hello in French." _

John chuckled. "Sherlock that wasn't French that was Spanish."

"_Was it?"_

"Yes."

"_No wonder the French population didn't understand me. I made a little mistake it seems."_

"Yes it seems like that. So Sherlock how are you. I didn't think you would call me."

"_No time for small talk John. I need your help. Do you have your laptop next to you?" _John looked around the living room and spotted his laptop on the desk. He grabbed it and nodded, when he remembered that Sherlock couldn't see him.

"Got it. Are you in trouble?" He asked a bit worried.

"_No I'm not, but I need directions. I'm in Germany in a city called Hamburg. They have one of the biggest harbors in Europe here and I need to check something. The problem though is that I have no internet connection, the people here are as incompetent as in Britain and my German language skills aren't the best and there in no map for the harbor."_

"And what exactly am I supposed to do?" John asked confused.

"_I need you to hack yourself into the German security system. I need video footage and information on ships that are leaving in the next 30 hours."_

"I am supposed to do what?" John couldn't believe what Sherlock said. How was he suppose to hack himself into a governmental system? He had no idea how to do something like that and then it was against the law. He really didn't want to have some angry German people in front of his door.

"_Relax John. I already figured everything out. You are first going to go into Mycroft's account and from there it should be easy. Mycroft likes to keep track of our European friends. Especially the French, Spanish and German people. You just have to look for the right information and everything should be fine."_

Sherlock was being 100 percent serious John could tell. "Sherlock I can't use your brothers account. He'll kill me."

"_No he won't and he won't notice that fast. He is in a meeting with some Russian people. It'll be safe. Now hurry up. I need the information."_

John pinned the bridge of his nose. What was this crazy person up to again? "You have to get me out of prison."

John could hear Sherlock laugh. _"Of course. There is no security system I can't break."_

"I was hoping on more legal ways but that will do it." John sat down in his chair and started the laptop. Why was he even doing this? "Sherlock aren't you concerned that people might listen to this conversation? You are supposed to be dead."

"_Don't worry both our phones were checked from Mycroft there is no way a normal criminal could listen to us. Also there is no camera in your flat. And of course I will wipe away all the evidence that someone ever called you today. Now stop worrying and get to work."_

"What do you mean with there is no camera in our flat? Was there ever one?"

"_Oh John." _Sherlock let out a 'you're-so-stupid' sigh, but didn't answer the question. But that alone answered the question to John. Why was he even surprised? Of course there would be a camera in his flat at some point.

"_Are you ready?"_ John opened Google Chrome and told Sherlock that he was ready. God, this was in a whole different way dangerous.

"_Just do as I say and everything should work."_

"Okay tell me what to do and I'll do it."

"_Great! Oh and John?"_

"Yes?"

"_If Mycroft calls don't answer the phone."_

"You got to be kidding me."

* * *

An hour and a half later John was in the German security system. Sherlock had been right (when wasn't he?) that Mycroft already had everything programmed and when John was in Mycroft's account everything went pretty fast from there. The hardest part though had been to get into Mycroft's account. It had been complicated, because Sherlock needed to tell John what to do over phone and could only describe everything and Sherlock wasn't the most patient person, so there had been a lot of insults and shouting on both sides. John had no idea what he had done, but Sherlock knew and had guided him throw everything (which was complicated enough). Also Mary had helped him sometimes. At the question if she ever did something like that before she just shrugged.

"This is completely insane!" John cried out. He really wasn't the fastest typer and he didn't know a lot about technology, but here he was hacked into the account of a British politician AND the German security system.

"_Don't complain. You have to check the list with all the ships leaving in the next 30 hours to Immingham."_

"Right." John typed in the dates. He was glad that everything was in English and not in German or it would take a lot longer. When the search finished he had two container ships heading to Immingham in the next 20 hours.

"Got it. There are two ships leaving. One will leave in 19 hours, the other in 21."

"_Where did they come from?"_

"The first one from the US and the other one from China."

"_Good. Perfect. Where is the china ship?"_ John quickly skimmed through the information.

"In a region called HHLA Container Terminal Burchardkai. On the west side of the Waltershofer Hafen. Block 6 Section 23."

"_That doesn't help me!" _John could picture Sherlock pacing, throwing his hands in the air and mumbling under his breath.

"Well what else am I suppose to tell you?" Sherlock didn't say anything for a while and John knew he was thinking. When Sherlock spoke again his voice was deep and mysterious but also had that 'I've-got-a-really-bad-idea' undertone in it.

"_Ready for some more hacking?"_

* * *

Sherlock walked down an empty street in the harbor. It was a nice day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. It was calm, peaceful and quite. Hateful. He knew it would be dangerous to get John involved, but Sherlock had gotten a bit bored and he did need help. If he finds what he hopes he will find then Sherlock is sure to have cracked Moriarty's plan. Already in Belgium and the Netherlands he had a suspicious, but in France he had been sure that he was right. Hamburg would (hopefully) confirm his theory. Sherlock hadn't even planned to go to Germany, but when he had gone through some files in France (the criminals were a bit messy and had everything just lying around) there had been a lot of data about a ship leaving Hamburg. He knew that it would be important and Sherlock decided to go to Germany at once. Sherlock now only needed to find what he was looking for and everything would make sense. And to be sure he hadn't missed anything Sherlock still needed to go to Spain and some places in England.

"_Sherlock I think I've got it." _ Sherlock smiled. He knew that he could rely on John. Since Sherlock had no Internet connection and had no mental map from this place John needed to tell him where to go. The idea was that John would watch him over the video cameras that were placed in the harbor and to tell him where to go next.

"_Yes got you. Ahh Sherlock I see you changed your hair and clothes." _John was right. After a unfortunate event in France Sherlock needed a new disguise (the criminals had made a picture of his disguise and told their fellow criminals to watch out for the Australian man in black leather clothes and no hair). His hair hadn't grown back yet and Sherlock now used a wig. It was blond short hair. His fake tattoo was gone and he was wearing a stolen uniform from the Hamburg Port Authority short HPA.

"Where do I have to go?" Sherlock asked looking around. He spotted the camera John was watching through and waved.

"_Sherlock you shouldn't look into the camera like that. People might see."_ Sherlock looked away from the camera and walked a few steps before replying „No they won't."

"_If you say so."_

"Where do I have to go?" He repeated the question.

"_Okay let me check. Walk down the street and in about 230 yards (200 meters) there will be an entrance, but there is security there. Can you get pass_?" Sherlock started to walk the way John said. John was watching the whole area over CCTV and could tell Sherlock when someone was coming.

"Yeah I got a card and a uniform" Sherlock grabbed into his pocket and held a card into the air so John could see.

"_Right, where ever you got that from." _Sherlock was now at the entrance. It was just an open gate. On one side cars could drive through and a man with a yellow jacket stood there waiting for a car to check. On the other side people could walk through. There was a counter with a man behind. He needed to play his role well and he hoped that the security people didn't ask too many questions, because his German wasn't perfect. Sherlock made himself a bit smaller, pressed the phone to his ear and walked throw the gates. He pretended to talk to John and Sherlock hoped the guard would be too lazy to stand up and ask him for his card.

"_Sherlock what exactly is your plan? Are you just going to walk through?"_

"Yes." He didn't bother tell John that his 'plan' was hoping that the security guards were not suspicious and hopefully didn't ask any questions. Sherlock was almost passed the counter when the guard got up.

"Hey! Was machen Sie da?"** (_Hey! What are you doing?)_**Sherlock stopped and turned around with an acted confused gaze. He lowered his phone.

"Gibt es ein Problem?"** (_Is there a problem?) _**Sherlock asked. He knew that he had an English accent, but hopefully his correct German would make up for it. The security guard walked closer to him. It was a fat man who didn't like to move. He was arrogant and thought because he worked for security would give him more power. Also the man had a wife (why someone would marry someone like that he couldn't tell), no kids, a dull life and for breakfast he had a big piece of cake with coffee.

"Ja, es gibt ein Problem. Sie können hier nicht einfach so durchlaufen. Industriegebiet. Ich brauche eine Karte oder Erlaubnis." **_(Yes, there is a problem. _**_**You can't just walk through here. Industrial area. I need a card or licence.)**_ The security guard tried to stand taller, but the result was that he even looked fatter. Sherlock almost let out a sigh but stopped himself in the last moment. Instead he smiled.

"Natürlich. Habe ich ganz vergessen! Hier ist meine Karte."** _(Of course. I forgot. Here is my card) _**Sherlock took out his card and gave it the guard whose name was Johannes Berger. The guard looked at it very carefully. He then looked at Sherlock and then back to the card.

"Marcus Broke?" Mister Berger asked. Sherlock nodded at his fake name. He kept up the smile. The guard gave back the card, but still looked at Sherlock suspiciously.

"Hab Sie noch nie hier gesehen. Was wollen Sie hier?" **(**_**Never saw you here before. What do you want here?) **_And here it was. Sherlock let out a sigh. This man really had to question him, didn't he?

"Ich arbeite meistens im Büro. Muss mit internationalen Leuten spreche _**(Mostly I work in the office.** __**Have to speak with international people. I am** **here to check something.)**_ Sherlock could see that the man wouldn't stop questioning him so he put his phone up again against his ear and spoke with a steady and professional voice.

"I am so sorry Mister Watson for the interruption. It seems like I have to stop our conversation. Bin hier um etwas zu überprüfen."n briefly. I know that you are a very important businessman, but someone doesn't want to let me through. I apologies." Sherlock then lowered the phone again and stared at the security guard. The security guard looked at him confused and Sherlock couldn't handle the stupity anymore. He snapped at the guard. "Haben Sie vielleicht noch irgendwelche Fragen? Ich bin gerade sehr beschäftig und muss mich beeilen, also wenn es geht dann wäre es schön wenn Sie mich durchlasen könnten." _**(D**o **you have any further questions?** **I am quite busy at the moment and need to** **hurry so it would be nice if you could just let me through.)**_

The guard looked at him clearly shocked that someone would snap at him. He stayed like that for a moment opened his mouth to reply but then closed it again. Again some seconds passed and Sherlock was about snap at the guard again telling him that he is way too fat, when the guard spoke. "Ja, ja gehen Sie ruhig." **_(Yes, yes you can go.)_**

Sherlock turned around and walked away from Mister Berger. After a few seconds he put his phone back against his ear. "I'm through."

John answered immediately. _"Yeah I saw that. What did you say to him and why was I all off the sudden a business man?"_

"You don't need to know what we said. The point is that he is stupid and I am not." John let out a sigh on the other phone end.

"_Okay Sherlock. You have to go straight till you passed 6 container blocks. Then left towards the water. At the end there is the ship." _Sherlock nodded and jogged the way John just described to him. It only took him two minutes till he saw the ship.

"John is anyone around?" Sherlock asked. Sherlock stood still listened if he could hear anybody.

"_No I don't think so. There is no one on the CCTV. But you should still be careful." _Sherlock walked a bit farther. He needed to find the right container.

"John can you watch the CCTV of this place when the ship came in and the containers unloaded? Look for a red container and maybe some suspicious activity like people looking into it."

"_Will do."_ Sherlock could hear John typing and Mary saying something in the back ground. Sherlock looked around and tried to figure out where Moriarty's men would put the container. Red. He knew that the container was red it was always red. Red was Moriarty's color. He already dismissed some of the containers that were too small or too big.  
Then the criminals wouldn't want the police to look at it, when they do their rounds with the dogs. So probably higher up. After his deductions eight containers remained and Sherlock walked to the nearest one. He needed to climb a bit, but that wouldn't be a problem. After some failed attempts to climb up the container he finally managed. It was higher than he had anticipated and a bit slippery. There weren't a lot of places to hold onto and Sherlock pressed his whole body to the side of the upper container. There was a light wind ruffling his hair.

"_Sherlock what are you doing? You could fall down that thing and break your legs." _John's concerned and panic voice came through the speakers.

"Don't worry doctor. I'll just have to look inside." Sherlock moved a bit putting one step next to the other. He really hoped that no one was around, because right now everyone could see him. And he had no idea how to explain himself climbing up the containers.

"_Right. Just don't kill yourself, okay?" _Sherlock grunted a response. He knew that he couldn't open the doors from up here so he needed to look through one of the small holes. He reached the holes and looked through them. He let out a disappointed sigh. It wasn't what he had looked for. In the container were only blue jeans.

"_Found something?" _John asked. Sherlock didn't answer and climbed down the container. When his feet hit solid ground again he took a deep breath. Sherlock then moved to the next container. Again he climbed the first container up to reach the red one. Nothing of importance was inside. The next five containers weren't better. They all had food or clothes inside. He didn't understand how this could have happened. Sherlock had been so sure. But if nothing was here maybe he had been wrong? No there must be something here. Something he missed. Moriarty didn't do easy plans. Maybe his plan was bigger than Sherlock had first though. And there was still one container left and if that didn't give him any information he would check every single container. There must be something here.

"_Sherlock I just finished to watch the CCTV from the last hours. The red containers you just inspected had been rechecked by someone. But you said there wasn't anything inside?"_ John's news was good but also terrible. What did Sherlock miss? There was only clothes and food inside those containers. Maybe they were trying to confuse Sherlock to get Sherlock on the wrong track. Sherlock pulled himself together again and walked to the last unsearched container. He climbed up again. It was now easier then the first time, because he knew where to put his feet and hands on the metal wall. He reached the container and looked through the hole. Again nothing! Only rice. Good, white Chinese rice. He grumbled in frustration. The next step would be to go into the containers and search under the food, maybe something was hidden there. Sherlock knew it would be dangerous to open the door from 13 feet (3 and half meters) over the ground, but he couldn't leave without any new lead.

"_Sherlock are you actually going to open that?"_ Sherlock dismissed Johns comment. He opened the first bar and then the second metal bar. His grip tightening onto the little curve in the metal. He then stood on his toes and with one hand opened the last bar. The door swung open. Sherlock climbed into the container and started to search. Rice, rice, rice, rice and more rice. There was NOTHING here!

"I don't understand! There should be explosives here somewhere and information on important people. Stolen money or weapons. But it's only food and clothes." Sherlock was frustrated.

"_Okay just relax may-"_

"I don't relax John! Do you have any idea what this means or are you too stupid to notice?" Sherlock spat out every word.

"_Sherlock I know you're frustrated, but let's look at the facts. You… Crap!" _Johns soothing voice died down and he hissed the last word.

"What?"

"_Custody control, Sherlock. Police is on their rounds. You have to hurry they will be there any minute!" _Sherlock got into action and walked out of the container. He couldn't jump down without hurting his legs and he still needed to close the door. He grabbed a metal handle and hold onto it tightly. He grabbed the open door and closed it.

"_There is no time. There only right around the corner. I'm sorry I didn't notice them earlier they just appeared." _Sherlock only closed one bar of the door and was about to hit the ground when someone shouted. Sherlock instantly knew he had been spotted.

"Which way?" he hissed to John.

"_Go right."_ Sherlock ran and the police ran after him. He could hear a dog. Not good.

"_Left!" _Sherlock turned left. He listened to Johns instructions over the phone and did what John told him. Sherlock had no idea where he was running to, but he trusted John to get him out of here.

"_Next corner right!" _Sherlock ran right and was greeted by three police officers standing there.

"_I meant left. Sorry." _John quickly corrected his direction and Sherlock turned around to run left. He heard the shooting from the officers, the barking of the dog.

"Next time please pay more attention to the police John." Sherlock grunted under his breath. "How many people are following me?"

"_Five." _John's short reply came.

_"Okay at the next corner you need to go-" _And with that John was cut off. Sherlock was confused for a moment before realization dawned on him.

"John?" Sherlock tried with some hope, but when no one answered he knew he was alone. He turned his head to look back and saw some people following him. When he looked in front of him again he noticed two people in the shadows.

The game was definitely on. And maybe a bit againt him.

* * *

"What the hell?" John shouted. Everything went black. His and Mary's laptop were black. His phone wasn't working. He couldn't leave Sherlock like that! Sherlock had no idea where to go. John jumped up and tried to press the start button of his laptop. Nothing happened.

"What's going on?" Mary asked. John only shrugged, but slowly his mind pieced something together. In that moment his front door opened and a very angry Mycroft came rushing in.

"Do you have any idea, what you're doing?" Mycroft asked.

"Actually yes I do." John replied his voice polite and under control. Mycroft stared at him. John felt a bit uncomfortable with Mycroft in the room but he stood tall against the man. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed Mary walking a step towards John.

"Don't get smart with me John! If I hadn't notice that something was up you could be in serious trouble! If anyone else had notice that YOU hacked into the German system you would be in jail and I would need to calm the Germans down. We are already in a complicated relationship. I don't need you to make it even worse!" Mycroft was furious and his voice was a bit louder then normally, but still under control. John swallowed. He didn't know what to do. He knew Mycroft had every right to be angry, but Sherlock was in trouble. John had no doubt that Sherlock would get out of it, but he let his friend down like this.

"Mycroft I know you are upset, but Sherlock is in trouble and…" Mycroft stopped John from talking with raising his hand.

"He is perfectly fine. Those are my men. I want to have a word with him later on. That's why you didn't notice anyone sneaking up on him." John swallowed. Sherlock was in trouble. In a whole different way. He doesn't need to defend himself from the German law but from Mycroft. John wasn't sure which was worse.

"I think it would be better if he doesn't call you anymore. As the results only get yourself into trouble."

"What?! You can't do that! You even said it would be a good idea." John shouted.

"I did say that." Mycroft stopped talking for a second and took a step towards John."He will only be allowed to write postcards. The old fashioned way." John stood there and stared at Mycroft. He understood Mycroft. He really did. It could all be much worse, but it wasn't fair for neither Sherlock nor John.

"But I can't write back then." Mycroft was about to reply something when Athena walked in.

"Sir, they got him." She said. Mycroft nodded and turned back to John Athena walked out of the flat. John got angry now. It wasn't fair Sherlock only tried to find out Moriarty plan. He would give everything for his friends and now Mycroft caught him. John knew that Mycroft would only talk some sense into Sherlock, but Sherlock was stubborn and would only insult Mycroft.

"I thought that you two could behave like grownups and don't start hacking yourself into mine and the German system. I was wrong. Of course I can give Sherlock some messages from you. You just have to tell me and he will be allowed to send you postcards and letters but no texts or calls." Mycroft was clearly finished and was about to walk out of Johns flat, when Mary spoke.

"Mycroft it's not fair for either John or Sherlock. They are friends. They need each other."

"I understand that Mary, but the point is that the whole situation could be worse. What if the Germans found out about this? Do you think they would be happy or appreciated the fact that some British Citizen hacked themselves in their system. I don't think so. And if they found out it was through my account they would be very angry. We are already in a very complicated relationship. This could have ended very badly. For both countries." With that Mycroft walked out of the door. John felt defeated and fell into his chair. He rubbed his hands over his face. This went all terrible wrong.

* * *

**A.N/ I don't know if it is possible to do anything like that. But I saw it in some action movie so why not. I know it may be unrealistic for John to hack a governmental system, but Sherlock and Mary are helping him so it is possible. Also I wanted some action with Sherlock and John and that was the only way I could think about. Next chapter will be up next week, it's more of a cute chapter but I think necessary. And after that there will be some Angst again (love to write those).**


End file.
